


the Hunt & the Hunted

by merrihael



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: (?), Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Angst, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, First Kiss, First Meetings, First Time, Fluff, I suck at tagging what's new?, M/M, More tags to be added, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, alcohol as a catalyst to conversation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-13 17:37:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16022723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merrihael/pseuds/merrihael
Summary: Recently tasked with a top-priority hunt, Akaashi stumbles across a handsome but certainly suspicious stranger in the woods. Bokuto turns out to be the help he needs to tackle his task, but focusing isn't easy when his very presence reopens old wounds and has Akaashi reevaluating everything he'd held as true until then.





	1. The Storm Arrives

**Author's Note:**

> it’s really late at night and I should be sleeping but I just need to get this fic out of my drafts and out of my head. I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> I'll fix tags, summary etc. later, when I'm on my laptop.
> 
> If you want a playlist that sums up the vibe of this setting pretty darn well, then I recommend _The Witcher III: Wild Hunt_ soundtrack, which can also be found [here](https://open.spotify.com/album/6pYNEn4tMc6gdv5fIZf5yn)!

Akaashi pulled the worn, woolen blanket over his head, hoping the noise would go away. It didn’t help — he could still hear the beasts roaring, way down below. Could hear their claws scratching on the stone as they tried to climb the pillars his house stood on. He knew they couldn’t climb, but the sound still filled him with terror. They were hungry for blood —  _ human _ blood, and they wouldn’t stop hunting until they found some unfortunate soul, caught wandering out after dark.

 

It had been this way every night since Akaashi was six years old. For many years prior, the people of Fukurodani had irritated the gods — they tore down small but powerful shrines to make room for sprawling cities, they did not observe the Festivals, and even let the sacred site of the Arrival be reclaimed by the forest. Eventually the — until then — merciful and patient gods had enough, and turned away. Without their holy light, beasts crawled out from their confinement in the underworld — horrific, misshapen,  _ evil _ things. Before long, they overran the forest, and the people ran from their cities in fear, taking to the treetops and to the towers for safety, daring to come out only during the day, when the merciful goddess Yhada graced the land with her light. Akaashi could hardly remember a time when he could lie in the grass and watch the stars without a certain death looming over him.

 

Akaashi was awake when the sun rose, and Yhada’s light spilled onto the earth. The beasts’ cries ceased immediately as they retreated into the darkest depths of the underworld to wait until the sun set and the Hunt began anew. In the depths of the city, suspended high above the earth on stone pillars and connected with cobble — sometimes just swinging rope — bridges, the Dawnfather blew his horn, announcing both the rise of the new dawn and the death toll for the night. Once, twice, thrice… nine times he blew, and just when Akaashi thought he’d finished, he started again. Thirty times — thirty people had fallen to the Hunt while Akaashi had tossed and turned in the night, concerned with his own discomfort and nothing else. The realization sent shivers down Akaashi’s spine: the death toll hadn’t been nearly so high in as long as he could remember.

 

Despite the worrying death toll, the city came to life like it usually did. Akaashi watched from his window, nursing a mug of watery coffee — a delicacy, these days, reserved only for the Council, the Dawnfather, and the City Watch — as one by one, the shutters opened and people began to appear on the bridges and walkways. Some hurried to the ladders, which had been lifted for the night, and down to the forest floor to collect firewood, hunt, or collect berries if they were poor. Others walked slowly, raising their eyes and palms to the sun, singing songs of praise to Yhada, as the Lady of Light preferred songs to prayer:

 

_ Yhada, Queen of the Sky, thank you for giving us your grace and your light. Thank you for smiling down upon us mortals, and for hearing our cause. Blessed be, the Lady of Infinite Light! _

 

Akaashi turned away from the window, and deposited his empty mug in the basin with the dishes from yesterday’s dinner — he’ll have to haul up some water to wash them later. Right now, he had more important things on his mind, like his duty to the city and its people. The high death toll meant something had gone horribly wrong — a building had collapsed or a ladder had been left down overnight — and it was up to Akaashi and the City Watch to investigate.

 

The City Watch had headquarters in the centre of the city, and after a good half hour of walking on swaying bridges and creaking planks, Akaashi made it to the respectable, stone building. A number of his sworn brothers, all clad in the black leather uniform with their long-beaked masks at their waists, were already waiting in the central hall when he walked in. A few of them raised their hands in greeting, and Akaashi returned it, but did not walk over or join their conversation — he was far too tired.

 

The Marshal appeared on the gallery, and looked down on them like a king might’ve looked over his subjects in the better days. The Watch immediately stopped their chatter and looked up at him, awaiting orders, and orders were barked out without a single mention of the death toll. One by one, the Watch dispersed to do their jobs — fix a walkway damaged by the wind in the South City, collect any arrows that could be salvaged from the beasts shot in the night, burn the corpses of killed beasts and humans… until only Akaashi was left standing.

 

‘You, Akaashi,’ the Marshal barked down at him. ‘To my office. Now.’

 

Akaashi stood still for a moment, watching as the Marshal disappeared from the gallery. He’d never been tried for misconduct before, never had any complaint made about his service, and had not in his seven years of service to the Watch and twenty one years of his life been summoned to the Marshal’s office. The man was terrifying: almost seven feet tall, built like a bear and with a booming voice — nobody in their right mind would dare cross him.

 

The door creaked when he pushed it open, and the Marshal looked up. Akaashi winced. He’d hoped to at least be able to shut the door and sit down without the man’s intimidating gaze following and evaluating his every movement. He felt as if he were doing his entry exam into the Watch again. 

 

‘You have heard the death toll, I assume?’ The Marshal only spoke when Akaashi sat down.

 

‘Yes, sir.’ Akaashi’s voice came out trembling, feeble. He cleared his throat. He was, simply speaking, terrified of the man, and the barrel of a rifle peeking out over the top of the desk within the Marshal’s easy reach only made him more nervous.

 

‘And what do you suppose is the cause of it?’

 

Akaashi blinked, surprised by the question. ‘I don’t know, sir.’ The Marshal continued to look at him, expectantly, so Akaashi wracked his brain and tried to think of something. ‘A building collapsed? A ladder was left unattended?’ Gods, was he being blamed for leaving a ladder down? ‘I wasn’t on ladder duty—’

 

‘A beast.’ The Marshal interrupted him, peering at him with eyes as black as coal. 

 

‘Pardon?’ Akaashi blinked at the man. Beasts could not climb nor fly, although when enticed by the scent of blood or human flesh, they sure  _ tried _ . A beast could not climb up into the city, not unless someone had committed the heinous crime of leaving a ladder down, or worse, helped it.

 

‘A beast,’ the Marshal repeated himself. ‘A strange new beast, unlike anything we’ve seen before appeared in West City after dusk last night. It massacred it’s way through the crowd before our soldiers chased it off. It was flung from the bridge and shot at with arrows, but managed to crawl into the forest.’

 

‘A single beast… killed thirty people… in West City?’ Akaashi echoed. It couldn’t be. West City was where the richest members of their community lived — Akaashi’s North City was the poorest — and the district was the best patrolled. There was  _ no way _ a beast could have snuck it’s way into West City.

 

‘Your hearing is excellent, soldier.’ the Marshal stroked his short, white goatee. ‘And if your head is still attached to your neck, then you know there is no way the City Watch would’ve let a beast  _ climb  _ into West City.’

 

‘What are you implying, sir?’

 

‘I’m implying that this beast,’ the Marshal shuffled around some of the papers on his desk and held one out to Akaashi. It was a rough drawing — made by a survivor of the beast’s rampage, Akaashi guessed — depicting a humanoid figure, it’s body covered with feathers. Enormous wings sprouted from it’s back, almost bigger than the beast itself. Where there would have been a human head, there was an owl’s, with huge eyes that seemed to gaze into Akaashi’s soul, despite the rushed drawing. ‘ _ Flew _ in.’

 

‘In the last fifteen years there had been no sightings of flying beasts, sir,’ Akaashi said, still haunted by the drawing’s eyes. ‘Our entire society’s survival has hinged on that.’

 

‘I know, soldier.’ the Marshal looked thoughtful. ‘I know. You are by far the best of the best among the City Watch — don’t let that get to your head, now —  and that’s why I want you to take this matter personally.’

 

Akaashi looked at him, trying to piece together something to say. The Marshal didn’t give praise to his own children, let alone members of the Watch, and now this assignment… the Marshal  _ tsk _ ed in annoyance at his hesitation.

 

‘I want you to find this beast, and kill it. If it does fly, you are our best archer. If it does not, you are our best tracker. And if my fears are true and someone in this city is meddling with rituals and the Betrayer Gods… then you are also our most potent magic user.’

 

The beast’s haunting eyes and the Marshal’s words stayed at the back of Akaashi’s mind as he slowly walked out of the building. Outside, a light snow had begun to fall, and people were rushing about, bundled into their cloaks, hardly sparing a glance at the lone man standing in the centre of the street. Once, snow had been a welcome sight: it made the landscape look pristine, it provided entertainment for the young and old alike, but now it was a grim reminder that winter was coming, and with it, longer nights, shorter days and the threat of starvation as game moved further south.

 

\---

 

The grass under his feet crunched when he stepped off the ladder. There were already people milling about, some carrying huge loads of firewood to one of the many lifts, some already dragging back caught animals, and yet others merely walking around in the falling snow, enjoying the feeling of grass and solid ground under their feet. Akaashi had decided to first investigate the path the beast had taken into the forest and the tracks it had left while there was still light, and then visit the massacred district after nightfall. It was the smartest management of his time — the longer he took to find the beast and kill it, the more lives were at risk.

 

The spot where the beast had been flung off the edge was easy to find: among the carnage left by the other beasts, there was a spot of flattened grass, splattered with a black liquid that pulsed with a faint light, and when he looked up at the city suspended high above, he could see the elegant finishings of West City buildings. Akaashi knelt down to inspect the liquid, careful to use his gloved hand — he’d seen City Watch gone mad from contact with beast blood. They’d complained from fires that burnt underneath their skin, then from an irresistible appetite for human flesh… and eventually turned into grotesque half-humans, half-beasts, and had to be killed. Akaashi didn’t like to imagine a similar fate befalling himself.

 

The trail led him between the caracasses of fallen beasts — a few teens were pulling the precious golden and silver arrows from their bodies to be brought back to the city, cleaned, re-anointed with holy oils and redistributed amongst the City Watch in preparation for another night of slaughter. The duty of collecting the arrows was assigned to the newest recruits of the Watch — Akaashi had been one of them, once. Some Watch brothers were dragging the bodies into heaps for burning.

 

A fair walk from the city, the grassy field gave way to the forest, where the trail led. Akaashi couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched as he passed the first trees and followed the trail deeper into the forest.

 

The deeper he walked, the more difficult the trail got to follow. Even with the small baubles of light he’d summoned to float and illuminate his way, the black blood was hard to see. Several times, he thought he saw blood smeared on the wide leaves of a plant, only to find it was a shadow, and have to retrace his steps. Hours passed, and Akaashi decided to give up his search — he’d lost the trail, he was cold and starving, and he still felt like he was being watched.

 

Attuning his senses to the magic running beneath his feet, Akaashi began to head in the direction of the city. He wove his way through the thick vegetation — with so little human interference in the life of the forest so deep in, it grew as it pleased, and often reached monstrous sizes. These particular plant’s leaves were so huge they could easily hide a human child, with room to spare. He moved a leaf out of his path, and saw the body.

 

First it was just a shoe — the shape of a worn down heel — but as his baubles moved forward to illuminate the scene, one leg came into view, then the other. Another leaf hid the person’s torso from view. He lifted it, but the stubborn plant snapped right back into place as soon as he tucked it behind a tree, so he only got a glimpse of the person — the torso was mercifully attached, but the grass beneath him was too dark to be just a shadow. Akaashi broke the stem in half and threw the leaf to one side, kneeling by the body.

 

The stranger was still alive: his chest was rising and falling as his lungs fought to draw in breath through his ajar lips. He was filthy, covered in minor scrapes and bruises, and when Akaashi parted the grass to inspect his side, he found the end of a crossbow bolt protruding from his side. It was clear that if this man did not get treatment, and soon, he would not be long for this world. Putting his hunt for the beast aside in favour of his oath to protect human life, Akaashi slipped an arm under the man’s knees, the other under his back, and  _ lifted _ . The man was heavier than Akaashi anticipated, and it almost cost him his balance. He recovered, and began to make his way back through the forest toward the city. With every step he took, blood dripped from the man’s side and onto the ground.

 

‘What…’ a groan escaped the man’s lips as Akaashi stepped out of the treeline. It was darker than he’d expected — the sunset had already begun, and the bells inside the city were ringing, summoning all the wanderers home before the ladders were pulled up. 

 

‘Just a while longer.’ Akaashi told the man, ignoring the way his leg ached with every step. A beast had shredded through the muscle there a few years ago, and while it was healthy and functional, it still hurt when he put it under strain — like right now.

 

‘Who… are you?’ the man kept his eyes squeezed shut. ‘Where am I?’

 

Akaashi sighed. As a member of the Watch, his duty was also to the injured, but he never got good at keeping up aimless conversation with the dying. ‘I’m Akaashi Keiji, sworn brother of the City Watch. You are in good hands, sir…’ He didn’t even know the man’s name.

 

‘Bokuto,’ the man introduced himself. ‘Bokuto Koutarou.’ He tried to say something else, but the blood drained from his face and he fell unconscious, head resting against Akaashi’s shoulder. Akaashi found small relief in the even rise and fall of his chest as he slowly, slowly made it to the nearest ladder. 

 

‘Send down the lift!’ Akaashi yelled up the ladder at the two City Watch standing guard. Slowed down by his new companion, he’d made it just in time before the ladders were to be lifted.

 

‘A little late for that!’ A mocking voice answered him. It made Akaashi’s temper flare, but he willed it down for Bokuto’s sake. ‘Leave your cargo down there and come on up, unless you wanna be beast food.’

 

‘For Yhada’s sake, I’m Akaashi of the City Watch, and there is a man bleeding out on me,’ he called, louder this time, so the passer-bys on the street would also hear him. His voice echoed among the pillars supporting the city. ‘And if you don’t send down that lift, his blood will be on your hands!’ 

 

He heard a grunt, and then the squeak of the lift being lowered. The metal cage came into the light of his little baubles, and he stepped in on shaking legs. Awkwardly shifting Bokuto’s weight to his shoulder, he gave the rope three short yanks — a bell rang above, and the lift began to move, hauled upward into the safety of the city by the joined power of mechanics and two City Watch brothers.

 

Akaashi stepped out of the swaying cage onto the comforting stone of the street. The two City Watch — seeing his mask at his waist and the baubles as they fizzled out of existence — recognized him as one of their own, and stepped dutifully aside. Seeing Bokuto, one of them ran a hand over his face and muttered a melodic prayer to Yhada.

 

‘ _ Sweet Queen of the Sky, light his way to his place of eternal rest _ ,’ he muttered. ‘That one’s not long for this world, is he.’

 

‘He’d have more of a chance if you sent down the lift when I asked you to, not made me explain myself,’ Akaashi replied, voice dripping with venom, already weaving through the crowd. People parted for him, and gave him the right of way on the bridges as he hurried toward the hospital. Bokuto did not stir, although as Akaashi made his way down some stairs, he did hiss with every bump.

 

A young woman held the door for him when he arrived at the hospital, but he did not make it further than the main foyer before a doctor dressed in bloodstained robes and the deep blue mask of the hospital’s coordinator. He bodily barred Akaashi’s way forward.

 

‘Take him away! Take him away we haven’t the room!’ he cried.

 

Akaashi blinked. ‘This man is  _ dying _ — it is your sworn duty to protect the life of others!’

 

‘That one is not long for this world, a blind man could see it,’ the doctor wrung his bloodstained hands. ‘After last night’s massacre, all the hospitals in the city are full of those who we can still save!’

 

‘Are you — a  _ sworn doctor _ — telling me to just  _ let this man die _ ?’ 

 

The green eyes peeking out at Akaashi over the top of the mask looked torn. ‘You are a brother of the City Watch — you are well versed in the arts of medicine and science, as well as … magic.’ he stumbled over the word. Doctors as a whole did not like magic, because no healing magic had been given by either the Betrayer Gods or Yhada, and they felt robbed of a great opportunity. ‘Take him and do what you can.’ Irritated and feeling the pressure of time, Akaashi turned away from him without another word and headed for the exit.

 

Bokuto launched into a coughing fit just as Akaashi cleared the last bridge that would take him to his home in North City. People were staring, and some were whispering amongst themselves, wondering what the rush was. Akaashi didn’t even try and throw an explanation over his shoulder — there was already an air of panic in the city after the death toll, and the news that the hospitals were full would only tip the scales over toward  _ mass  _ hysteria.

 

‘Hang on, we’re almost there.’ Akaashi told Bokuto, as the latter launched into another fit of coughs, broken with foreign swear words — Akaashi could only tell they were swear words by the way in which they were said, and the occurrence of the names Yhada and Karmillion.

  
Kicking away a stray bottle, Akaashi lay down Bokuto on his bed. Bokuto was unconscious once again, his mouth ajar and his breathing shallow. Shrugging off his cloak, Akaashi slung it over the back of a chair, and rolled up his sleeves. Someone outside had prepared a big bucket of water and Akaashi took it, closed the door with his foot and set it down beside the bed. He grabbed four different herbs from where they’d been drying as they hung in little bunches from the ceiling — thyme, rosemary, echinacea, lavender, peppermint — and the vials he kept in a studded chest under his bed. Sterilizing the knife as best as he could over a candle flame, he turned back toward Bokuto, lying on the bed. He rolled up his sleeves, and prepared himself for a  _ long _ night filled with terror and blood.


	2. A Wanderer’s Story

Akaashi woke to the sound of claws on stone and the familiar calling and roaring of the Hunt. It was dark, so he snapped his fingers at the silhouette of a candle he could see in the moonlight — the wick flickered to life, casting long shadows around Akaashi’s one-room abode. Too tired to use his magic beyond that, Akaashi walked around, lighting each candle with the flame from the one he held. With every new candle, the room got brighter and sleep got further away from Akaashi’s eyelids. Bokuto stirred on the bed — squinting against the light, he tried to roll onto his now-bandaged side, winced, and stayed put. Akaashi took a clean cloth and covered his eyes with it, and after a moment, Bokuto’s breath slowed as he fell back asleep. He would live to see the morning.

 

When he opened the door, the cold night air flowed into the room, and along with it, the sound of the Hunt. Calling forward all the strength he could manage into his arms, Akaashi carried the basin of bloody water out of the house and toward the nearest bridge. Far below, illuminated by the lantern light, he saw the beasts — horrible, twisted things — and their red eyes as they stared up at him. Swaying a little with the momentum, Akaashi emptied the bucket down onto them. A gnarled cat with two mouths leapt upward, enticed by the taste of blood, but it soon fell back down — Yhada’s promise prevailed, no matter how crazed the beast was.

 

Turning away from the bridge and the beasts below, Akaashi instead sat down on a barrel outside his own front door. It was cold, but the crisp air was also refreshing. The streets were empty, the houses locked and probably barricaded from the inside. The sun was beginning to streak the sky red and pink, but it was not yet enough to banish the beasts into the darkness. Akaashi frowned down at his bloodstained hands, and sighed. So much had changed in so little time — he’d gotten a personal assignment from the Marshal, and for a never before seen beast, too. A beast that had killed thirty people, and injured many more. And if the assignment wasn’t enough, he was now both legally and  _ morally  _ bound to Bokuto, a stranger he’d found half dead in the woods and knew  _ nothing _ about.

 

Akaashi was torn from his jumbled thoughts by the sound of the Dawnfather’s horn. Once, twice, thrice, he blew, and Akaashi felt a little relieved. Not an extraordinary death toll — no more people whose deaths were on his shoulders due to his incompetence at hunting the beast. As the shutters along the street were thrown open, Akaashi hopped off his barrel and went back inside in an attempt to avoid prying eyes and questions. 

 

‘Good morning,’ Akaashi said when he saw that Bokuto was awake. ‘How are you feeling?’

 

‘Not bad for someone who was half dead last night!’ Bokuto grinned wide. He had one of those broad, dazzling grins that made you feel as if you’d known him forever. ‘And I owe it to  _ you _ !’

 

Akaashi found himself at a loss for words at the barrage of friendliness, so he just rubbed his neck with his hand, leaving bloody streaks on his skin, and looked everywhere but Bokuto. ‘I… I suppose you are hungry.’

 

‘ _ Starving _ ,’ Bokuto replied. As if by force of habit, he made to get up, but the wound in his side prevented him from doing so, and he fell back down, a little whine escaping his lips. Akaashi frowned at him, and told him to keep still as he turned away to his sorry excuse for a kitchen.

 

He peered into one of the cupboards, opening it just enough to peek in and not enough for Bokuto to see how empty it was — he wasn’t sure why he didn’t want Bokuto to know how poor he was, because he’d be aware of it as soon as he stepped outside or got a better look around the room. There was some bread, bacon, two eggs. The only thing in plentiful supply was coffee — as City Watch, Akaashi had a bag of it delivered to him every week to help with the demanding shifts. 

 

‘Where am I, exactly?’ Bokuto’s voice drifted over to him as Akaashi attempted to make scrambled egg. 

 

‘Kanto’s North City.’ Akaashi replied, loading the egg onto the plates beside the bacon and bread. The water for coffee had already boiled, and he made himself a mug. After a moment of deliberation, he used the last of his ground tea leaves to make Bokuto a cup — coffee was not good for bleeding wounds. 

 

‘ _ Kanto _ ?’ Bokuto sounded shocked, as if that were the last thing he’d been expecting. Akaashi attributed that to his near death experience, but the question that followed had him second guessing himself. ‘How.. how many days’ travel is that from Miyagi?’

 

‘At least a month,’ Akaashi said, frowning. Miyagi was a city far to the North. In his lifetime, he’d only seen two groups that made it to Kanto from Miyagi, and they’d been well armed and travelling in large groups, while Bokuto was alone. There was no way he could’ve came from there, but when Akaashi thought about it, he did have a slight Northern twang in his accent… 

 

‘Oh.’ Bokuto said, and fell silent, so Akaashi didn’t question him. 

 

He was just about to bring the food over to the table so he and Bokuto could eat, when through a crack in the shutters, he saw a little boy. No older than six, he was sitting on the steps of the bridge, with a little girl — three or four years old, maybe — curled against his side. There was a little wooden bowl at his feet, and the boy was singing, lifting his eyes hopefully to each person that walked past. Some turned the other way, some glared at him, some ruffled his hair sadly — none spared so much as a copper. 

 

It hit him like a blow to the chest that this — begging, poverty and starvation — was all these children knew. Akaashi remembered a time when he could look at the stars without the sound of the Hunt around him, when he could clamber up onto his parent’s kitchen cabinet and steal the cookie jar…  _ they  _ didn’t. He set Bokuto’s portion down on the table, took the rest of the bread and bacon from the cabinet, and stepped out into the street.

 

‘Here,’ he knelt down beside the boy, whose eyes grew ten times in size when he saw and smelled the food. He took it gratefully, stammering over his  _ thank you _ s. ‘I don’t have much more, but this should keep you full for a bit.’

 

‘Thank you, sir! Thank you so much!’ the boy passed the food to his sister — at close quarters the familiar resemblance was uncanny — and held the bread and bacon in shaking hands. Akaashi wished he could do more for them.

 

‘The people in West City are richer,’ Akaashi told him. ‘You might be luckier there.’

 

‘Thank you, sir! Thank you so much — may Yhada’s light be with you!’ Akaashi guessed that if he weren’t sitting, the boy would’ve bowed down and thanked him. The thought made him uncomfortable, so he simply ruffled the boy’s hair and went back inside. Bokuto had drifted back to sleep when Akaashi carried over the plate of slightly cooled food over to the bed, but he woke when Akaashi nudged him, and perked up at the sight of food. He sat up, wincing at the pain in his side, and leant against the wall, which creaked under his weight. 

 

‘Aren’t you gonna eat?’ Bokuto asked, eyeing Akaashi’s empty hands.

 

‘I’m not hungry,’ Akaashi lied as he pulled over a chair and fetched his coffee. ‘How did you end up in the forest?’ he quickly changed the subject, lest Bokuto wasn’t as gullible as he hoped.

 

‘Well,’ Bokuto looked thoughtful as he chewed. ‘I left Miyagi with a caravan carrying food and the like.’ He frowned at his food, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. ‘That’s the last thing I remember.’

 

‘The last thing you remember is leaving Miyagi?’ Akaashi echoed, in disbelief.

 

‘ _ Wait _ , no, that’s not true.’ Bokuto had set down his fork, and was rubbing his temples. Akaashi watched him in amazement, wondering just what kind of person he’d saved from the Hunt and taken as his —  _ temporary _ , he assured himself — roommate. ‘We reached a safe haven a day’s travel from Miyagi. We barricaded ourselves in with the horses — Kuroo was on first watch so I went to sleep — and then… nothing.’ A haunted look came over him, as his hands fell from his face and came to rest on the blanket. The color drained from his face, as he echoed the last word in a strange voice: ‘Nothing.’ Akaashi stayed silent, torn between snapping him out of it and watching to gleam some more information, but Bokuto snapped out of it himself. He shook his head, and offered Akaashi another dazzling grin.

 

‘You’ve had a rough… time.’ Week? Month? Yhada knew how long Bokuto had been wandering the forest. How long he’d evaded death from the Hunt. ‘The food will help.’

 

Obediently, Bokuto tucked into his food. The conversation continued, although it was mainly Bokuto asking Akaashi questions: simple things about Akaashi’s life, his childhood, him… Akaashi indulged him, because if anything, Bokuto made fantastic conversation. He seemed to be genuinely interested in  _ everything _ , and in a city where the majority had grown apathetic, Akaashi found him refreshing. As he drained the last of his tea, Bokuto looked down thoughtfully into his cup.

 

‘Do you know how to tell fortunes, ‘Kaashi?’ Akaashi’s name never quite sounded the same coming from Bokuto’s lips. He didn’t know if it was simply a Bokuto thing or if it was the effect of a Northern upbringing, but he didn’t mind too much.

 

‘No,’ Akaashi said, amused. ‘No I don’t.’

 

‘Well, I do.’ Bokuto gave his tea leaves one last glance then set the cup aside. Grinning mischievously, he tilted his head at Akaashi. ‘Do you want me to tell yours?’

 

‘Sure,’ Akaashi said, and passed his empty cup over. He had heard of fortune telling from cards, tea leaves, coffee grounds and the stars, but he’d always thought of it as a distraction from the grim reality. It wouldn’t hurt to have Bokuto tell him his fortune... But just as Bokuto began to concentrate on the tea leaves, there was a banging on Akaashi’s front door. Whoever his guest was, they were feeling rushed: the door rattled in it’s frame with the strength of their knock. 

 

‘Coming!’ Akaashi called. The door creaked when Akaashi tugged it open to reveal two men in City Watch uniforms. One of them was wearing his mask, but the one standing in front had it dangling from his belt. He hailed Akaashi with two fingers raised to his brow, and Akaashi returned the salute.

 

‘How can I help you?’ Akaashi said, politely.

 

‘From the Marshal,’ the City Watch in front held out a package. His voice was rough, and it made him sound as if he were displeased with his assignment. ‘Urgent’

 

‘Oh,’ said Akaashi, surprised. ‘Thank you…?’

 

The package was heavy in his hands, so heavy that when he took it with one hand, he almost dropped it. It was wrapped in brown paper and tied with an official looking purple ribbon.  _ Confidential _ and  _ Private _ were stamped on it in red ink in a few places. Offering no explanation, his two City Watch brothers saluted him and turned on their heels, most likely eager to get out of the shady district of North City and back to somewhere more pleasant. Akaashi shut the door with his foot and walked over to the table, aware of Bokuto’s worried eyes on him.

 

‘It’s just a package,’ Akaashi said softly, before Bokuto could ask. He felt some of the tension in the room dissipate as Bokuto eased back against the wall.

 

‘From the Marshal, I heard,’ Bokuto said in a strange voice. Akaashi glanced over at him, and saw his knuckles had turned white with the intensity with which he was gripping the teacup. Akaashi raised an eyebrow at that, but said nothing. ‘You’re not some ordinary City Watch, are you?’

 

‘What do you mean, not ordinary?’ Akaashi asked, as he rummaged amongst the papers and books piled on top of his table for a knife to cut the ribbon with. 

 

‘Ordinary Watchers don’t get personal gifts from the Marshal,’ Bokuto said, as Akaashi found the knife he’d been looking for. He sliced neatly through the ribbon and paper, and the contents of the package spilled out onto the table. One of them — a glass vial — began to roll toward the edge, but Akaashi caught it before it could fall and shatter. A black liquid swirled inside. It was marked  _ Sample II _ , which he found very informative.

 

The package contained a plethora of curiosities: two letters in white envelopes — both bearing the Marshal’s seal, a heavy tome covered in runes, another copy of the drawing Akaashi had received the previous day, a bundle of herbs, three glass vials marked  _ Sample I _ ,  _ Sample II _ and  _ Sample III _ : the first one had a bit of white fur at the bottom, the second contained the black substance, and in the third, Akaashi found a grey and white feather, and a small leather pouch. Inside, Akaashi found fifty gold pieces — more than enough to feed him and his guest for months.

 

Seeing the gold spilling out onto the table, Bokuto clambered up off the bed and, using the wall as support, made his way to the table. He collapsed into the chair opposite Akaashi. Not trusting his intentions, Akaashi quickly scooped the gold back into the pouch and tucked it inside his shirt. If Bokuto noticed, he didn’t comment on it, and instead reached for the drawing. Akaashi let him, and broke the seal on the first of the two letters. 

 

Written in the Marshal’s chicken scrawl handwriting, there were instructions: Akaashi was to focus on hunting the beast and was temporarily relieved of his City Watch shifts. Should he need more gold for food or equipment, he was to file a request with the Marshal or his scribe. He was to kill the beast and deliver it’s head as proof, and burn the body. The three samples were fur, blood — the word had a question mark beside it — and a feather suspected to have belonged to the beast. The other envelope was meant to contain authorization to access the City Watch’s inventory and take whatever he may need.  _ That _ was going to come in useful: the warehouse had healing potions and Akaashi had a very good idea what he could use one for right then and there… He looked up from the letter, and saw that Bokuto was still staring at the picture. 

 

‘That’s the beast I’m supposed to be hunting.’ he explained. Bokuto jerked as Akaashi’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. When his eyes met Akaashi’s, his pupils were blown wide.

 

‘Oh,’ Bokuto said, quietly. He set the paper down, and folded his hands together. ‘I can help you.’

 

\---

 

When Akaashi left Bokuto sound asleep in his bed later that afternoon, he did not believe that Bokuto really could help him. He still didn’t believe it when he swung by the City Watch warehouse in West City and, taking advantage of the Marshal’s permit, took all the food and potions he could carry. He started to believe it when — after a fair bit of grumbling about the horrid taste — Bokuto drank one of the potions, and a warm red glow began to pulse in his chest, before fading away. It usually only did that for extremely potent magic users. He  _ definitely  _ believed Bokuto could help him the next day when, following a lead given by the Marshal, they were caught off guard by an early dusk, and Bokuto had his back as they fought their way through the beasts toward the last remaining ladder.

 

Akaashi had used his newly-acquired privileges to get Bokuto one of the finest greatswords — Bokuto’s weapon of choice — he could find. It was a beautiful weapon, intricately crafted with sacred runes running up the centre, finished off with a citrine gem at the hilt, engraved with Yhada’s sigil. He’d initially thought that Bokuto claiming a greatsword was his preferred weapon was him trying to make himself seem more experienced. He was surprised to see that, while his own combination of fire and blade barely kept the onslaught of beasts away, Bokuto cut a path for them with ease. Akaashi had never seen someone swing a sword of that size as if it weighed less than a feather. In the end, they scrambled up the ladder and collapsed on the cobbled street as the guards — who’d mercifully waited — pulled it up after them.

 

Akaashi could still hear the beasts moving about far below, but to make matters worse, he could still  _ sense _ them — and couldn’t tune them out. It was as if someone had taken a huge gong, placed it inside his skull, and was ringing it furiously. Compared to the sweet hum of Bokuto’s violin or the guard’s twin flutes, it was a nightmare. His heart pounded in his chest, and he didn’t know if it was fear or adrenaline.

 

‘You alright, Akaashi?’ Bokuto was standing over him, hand outstretched, a worried look in his eyes. The sound of his voice pulled Akaashi away from the ringing in his head, and he took his hand, allowing Bokuto to pull him to his feet. 

 

‘Let’s go,’ he said, ignoring the way the two guards looked at them both. He started toward the nearest bridge, tired and hungry. He heard Bokuto follow him, and then the guards’ hushed whispers:

 

‘ _ That’s _ Akaashi? The one the Marshal tasked with finding the beast?’ one of them asked in an incredulous tone. Akaashi felt the heat of embarrassment crawl up his neck.

 

‘Yhada save us all,’ the other guard replied, the shake of his head audible in his voice. Akaashi resisted the urge to wince and walked faster — so fast that Bokuto had to break into a jog to keep up with him. He hoped Bokuto wouldn’t mention it, and thankfully, he didn’t.

 

\---

 

Bokuto chucked another book to the floor, the noise so loud it made Akaashi jump. True to his word, he’d been helping Akaashi with the hunt — or rather, the part of it they  _ could _ do. The beast had not shown up in the last week, and none of the Marshal’s contacts in the surrounding cities reported anything unusual. What was left to them was to compare samples to existing records, even if they knew it was futile, or reading legends and myths in hopes of a mere mention of something like it that could tip them off. Akaashi took the records, leaving Bokuto the legends and myths.

 

‘Why were people back then so  _ stupid _ ?’ Bokuto asked one day, rubbing his nose and reaching for another cup of tea. Akaashi looked up from the book he’d been studying — his eyes took a moment to readjust.

 

‘Hmm?’

 

‘This guy had everything, right?’ Bokuto gestured to the page in front of him. ‘He had a lover, he had friends. But he left  _ all _ of it to go get money, right?’ Akaashi hummed again. ‘And when he got the money, he didn’t come back.’

 

Akaashi raised an eyebrow. He was familiar with the story: the main character fell in love with the spoils of court and found that his old lover and friends were drab in comparison. So, he stayed in the far-away land, living life to the fullest until the jilted lover decided to punish him for his infidelity and used magic to reach him. They were the first magician, or so the legends say. Akaashi never liked that story, even as a kid — he’d shared Bokuto’s opinion.

 

‘How did you earn money, Bokuto?’ Akaashi asked, suddenly curious. ‘Back home?’

 

‘I was a beast hunter, like you!’ Bokuto grinned at him, and Akaashi found his ears getting uncharacteristically warm in the face of that grin. ‘Well—’ he frowned. ‘Not really like you; you’re a Watcher! I’m just, well, me. I worked with this guy called Kuroo — he was really cool, really into his alchemy and stuff. He had apprenticed to a Watcher and wanted to be one but…’ he pulled a face. ‘It didn’t work out. So he started working with me.’

 

‘Oh,’ Akaashi said. That was interesting. He’d heard of freelance beast hunters, but they were not popular where he lived — people usually wanted to protect their lives, not risk them for the greater good. Bokuto fit the mold of a non-City Watch hunter, Akaashi thought. Loud, charismatic, a little like the adventurers from before the Hunt.

 

‘And you?’ Bokuto asked, resting his face in his hand and looking at him with sparkling eyes. ‘How did you become a Watcher?’

 

\---

 

Akaashi sat in his chair, swaying gently on it’s back two legs. There was a book in his lap, but he’d long tired of sitting there and squinting at the rows and rows of perfect letters. Bokuto was unusually calm that day, as he sat across from Akaashi, chin in his hand, reading. The early afternoon sunlight streaming in through the blinds was lightly kissing his cheeks.

 

_ Bokuto Koutarou, you are a very pretty man _ . Akaashi thought, allowing himself the moment of softness in the secrecy of his own mind.  _ A very pretty man with many secrets _ .

 

Bokuto’s hair was one of the main things that had caught Akaashi’s attention when the man had bathed and freed himself from the layers of blood and dirt. Gray, red and even blue colors were rare, but not unseen. They were a reminder of champions long gone, whose hair had changed color to match the god they served, and was passed on to their children. Bokuto’s hair was black with gray streaks, and framed his face very prettily, coming to a ponytail in the back. It made Akaashi self conscious about his own unruly curls.

 

Then there were his eyes.  _ Damn it _ , his eyes. Akaashi wasn’t about to go drooling over someone he’d just met, and someone whom he was supposed to be working with, but he had to admit that Bokuto’s eyes were really something. Especially now, he could see them moving left to right as Bokuto read page after page. They were a unique shade of gold, dark-rimmed and  _ alive _ . When he looked in the mirror, Akaashi thought his own green eyes were boring in comparison.

 

‘You okay, Akaashi?’ Bokuto asked, suddenly, and Akaashi startled, hurriedly returning to his work, lest Bokuto notice how flustered he got at being caught staring.

 

\---

 

Akaashi pushed the door open so violently it banged off the wall, sending some of the crumbling plaster to the floor. He was frustrated and exhausted. It seemed like his trail had gone dry: the beast had not made another attack, and some guessed it died of the wounds it sustained that night. Some even claimed they’d found it’s rotting corpse, but none of the samples brought back matched with the ones in the City Watch’s stores. Over the past two weeks, Akaashi — with Bokuto’s help — had read dozens of books on the Beasts, on the Gods. They’d searched acres of forest, but did not find even a single feather. It was as if the beast had vanished into thin air. To make matters worse, the attitude of the guards from that first night had spread to the rest of the City Watch and even the Rangers: everyone doubted Akaashi’s competence. Even the Marshal had asked if Akaashi felt capable, or if he should task someone else with the job.

 

Bokuto had been napping in a chair, a bestiary open in his lap, but startled awake at the noise. Over the weeks, he’d become a co-worker and a roommate. He shot Akaashi a curious look and bent down to retrieve the bestiary that had slid from his lap.

 

‘What did the old man have to say?’ Bokuto had met the Marshal a couple of times. The first time he’d been in awe and largely starstruck by the authority figure, but his excitement had quickly withered.

 

‘He asked if I want him to assign the hunt to someone else,’ Akaashi said, and flopped down on the bed. 

 

‘And what did you say?’ The sound of violin got louder when Bokuto gently sat down next to him, bestiary in hand. Akaashi shot him a meaningful look, and Bokuto laughed, making the whole bed — and probably the entire house — shake. ‘Come on, I made dinner.’

  
Akaashi had been delighted to find out that Bokuto was not only wonderful company and a powerful fighter — he was also an excellent cook. He cooked many dishes Akaashi had never tried before — the cuisine of his homeland. Akaashi liked them — even if it was a  _ lot _ of meat to get used to — and Bokuto seemed to thrive on seeing him finish off plate after plate. Thanks to the permit, Akaashi didn’t have to worry about food again: not when he could waltz into the warehouse and take anything he wanted.


	3. Forty Seven

It was starting to become a pattern. He’d lost count how many times he’d woken up before dawn to the sound of beasts’ claws and the ringing in his head, and here he was again, staring into the pitch dark of his home. He lit a candle, perched precariously on the ledge above his head, and watched the flame dance in the draft that had picked up. The ringing didn’t stop, even when he tried to tune it out. 

 

Something scratched at his front door, and his hand immediately went to the dagger he kept under his pillow. A beast? The lock clicked as it was unlocked, and the door swung open, sending light from a street lantern streaming into the room. Akaashi squinted against the light. A familiar voice cursed as the door creaked shut, and Akaashi relaxed his grip on the dagger.

 

‘What are you  _ doing _ , Bokuto?’ he asked, falling back against the pillows. With a snap of his fingers, he lit up the remaining candles, and Bokuto’s (impressive) form came into view.

 

‘Didn’t mean to wake ya,’ Bokuto mumbled, and shuffled over to his mattress. ‘I had to get some fresh air.’

 

‘It’s not safe to go out at night,’ Akaashi grumbled, feeling like an overprotective mother hen. ‘Especially not with a beast like  _ that one _ around.’ The sentence was broken by a yawn — he was so, so tired.

 

‘It’s fine, I was just out the front door.’ Bokuto’s smile was audible in his voice. Out of the corner of his eye, Akaashi saw him snuff out the nearest candle. ‘Can you… can you do that thing where you make the candles go out?’

 

‘Oh, this?’ Akaashi asked, also smiling, as he waved his hand. The candles immediately flickered out, and the room fell back into darkness.

 

‘Yeah, that.’ Bokuto said into his pillow. Then, after a pause: ‘Thank you.’

 

They fell silent, and after a while, Akaashi heard Bokuto’s breathing even out as he fell asleep. With Bokuto back in the room, the beasts’ calls seemed to fade out, drowned in the sweet sound of a violin. Before the Hunt began, Akaashi had lived in a little village not far from where the city now stood. One of his neighbours had been an eccentric, but likeable musician, who played the violin. Akaashi would often climb into the tree’s of the man’s orchard to listen him play, unseen. He didn’t want to think what had become of the musician when the Hunt came… he’d never been very strong.

 

He was startled awake not much later by the sound of the Dawnfather’s horn.

 

He met Bokuto’s wide-eyed gaze across the room.

 

One… two… ten… twenty… The Dawnfather didn’t stop. He continued: thirty… forty… forty five… forty seven. Forty seven people had died in the night, and Akaashi immediately knew the cause — the beast had returned.

 

Akaashi threw off the covers and tugged on his boots, teeth chattering at the sudden cold. He pushed open the front door and heard it bang off the side of the house, but he was already running towards — he didn’t know where he was running, really. Wherever the crowds were would be his best bet. Bokuto was hot on his heels, his iron-shod boots loud on the street.

 

It was cold, and Akaashi hadn’t taken his coat in his rush to get out the front door, but he didn’t care. All he could think about was the number forty seven as he wove through streets, over bridges and past guards, all of them staring in disbelief at the Dawnfather’s Tower. After what felt like hours, he came to a sliding stop beside a larger group of Watchers and civilians, gathered by a bridge. He pushed past them, and froze. Bokuto dropped his cloak on Akaashi’s shoulders and he put it on automatically.

 

It was a terrible sight. It almost made him sick. The Watchers and some of the lower-ranking Rangers were already beginning to take the dead away for burial, but there were enough deceased for Akaashi to see just what kind of power the beast had. 

 

Akaashi picked up one of the feathers littering the area. Even at first glance, it was clear it matched the one in the test-tube: the one collected after the first attack. He pocketed it, and, carefully avoiding the bodies scattered around the square, dragged out of their homes, walked over to inspect a series of long, thin gashes in the wall. They pulsed with magic, and their screeching felt like someone was jamming a nail into his brain. He touched them, the stone cold against his fingers.

 

The sound of the crowd’s chatter and Bokuto’s whispered prayer faded into silence. The world around him drained of color — all of it, except the claw marks in the wall, because that was what they were: claw marks. He understood now. He turned around, one hand still resting on the wall. He saw the late night crowd — because it was a richer district, there were people sitting on the well-lit benches, drinking, chatting, enjoying life. He watched as a woman laughed soundlessly, tilting back in her seat in slow motion. Then, he saw colour out of the corner of his eye. Near the bridge, the beast had appeared. To Akaashi, it glowed bright red, but to the people, it was hidden in shadow… he wanted to cry out, to warn them, but he couldn’t do anything but watch as it made its first attack, and the scene turned into chaos. 

 

It was the first time he’d seen the beast. Even though he knew it was just a vision, it still sent fear up his spine and into his chest. The drawing had been accurate, although it did nothing to account for its size. It towered over the people, almost reaching the lamp-posts height. When it flew forward to make an attack, it’s wings were were wider than the bridge. And the face… it was terrible. Just like in the drawing. Involuntarily, Akaashi felt himself suck in a breath when it turned, and looked at him…  _ right at him _ . Then, it began to run at him, flapping it’s enormous wings as it went.

 

‘Akaashi? Akaashi are you alright?’

 

Akaashi opened his eyes and dropped his hands, which he’d flung up to protect himself. His palms were on fire, and Bokuto was keeping well clear of them, although he looked worried. It was his voice that had drawn Akaashi out of his trance. The beast was nowhere to be seen.

 

‘I’m fine.’ Akaashi assured him, trying to calm his ragged breathing. The fire in his hands flickered out with a little puff of smoke. He’d been standing exactly where one of the unfortunate souls had been when the beast attacked, but it had felt as if the beast had looked at  _ him _ , seen  _ his _ soul, seen the sacred runes tattooed along  _ his  _ spine and  _ hated _ him. He shook the feeling off. ‘Let’s go.’

 

Bokuto followed him without another word, but Akaashi could feel his eyes on the back of his head, curious and worried. Unfortunately, they made it only to the bridge before someone recognized him.

 

‘Hey, you! Akaashi was it?’ Uriel, because  _ of course _ it had to be Uriel, grabbed Akaashi by the shoulder and roughly turned him around. There were dark circles under his eyes and blood spattered on the front of his City Watch uniform. It was obvious he’d been one of the first responders at the scene. Akaashi looked over Uriel’s shoulder, searching for a familiar head of black hair, because where Uriel went, Imlerith was bound to be.

 

‘If it isn’t the Marshal’s pet,’ someone bumped into Akaashi from behind, and he felt the point of a knife drag gently along his spine. There was Imlerith; he always liked to play with knives. ‘The one to thank for all this.’ Akaashi didn’t even have to look where Imlerith was pointing to know. Imlerith stepped around him and moved to Uriel’s shoulder, spinning his knife around between his fingers like one might spin a pencil.

 

‘You were a good Watcher,’ Uriel said, snarling. ‘Seems you’re in over your head now, eh?’ Akaashi said nothing, just stood there, which annoyed both Uriel and Imlerith. He saw the glance they shared and just hoped Bokuto was good enough at reading the mood to stay quiet.

 

‘Seems like you need some extra motivation.’ Imlerith said, at the same time as Uriel grabbed Akaashi by the front of his shirt and pulled him closer. The blade of a dagger bit into the skin of Akaashi’s neck, deep enough to draw blood. ‘’Cause people are dyin’, and the Marshal’s lettin’ it all out on us.’

 

‘Let him go.’ Bokuto’s hand appeared on Uriel’s arm, the one holding the dagger. His voice was grave, and frankly a little scary.

 

‘Leave it, Bokuto.’ Akaashi gave the hand holding his shirt a squeeze. ‘Let go, Uriel. I don’t have time.’

 

‘Who’s this?’ Uriel didn’t seem to hear him, his attention completely taken up by Bokuto. ‘Your new pet?’ 

 

Akaashi wanted to roll his eyes, but he knew that’d probably end up in a broken nose. Uriel and Imlerith were like mean school children, only six feet tall, armed and trained in the art of war. He  _ really _ didn’t have time for this. Taking advantage of Uriel and Imlerith’s distraction, he swung his legs up and gave Uriel’s stomach one good  _ kick _ . The dagger clattered onto the cobble as Uriel was sent reeling backwards into Imlerith. Chaos ensued. Akaashi didn’t want a fight and could easily let Uriel and Imlerith’s big mouths slide, but when Imlerith pointed his sword at him and insulted his mother, it was a bit too much. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bokuto punch Uriel in the face.

 

\---

 

Akaashi’s cheek was still throbbing from the punch Imlerith had managed to land on him before the Watchers had enough of their fighting. It was going to bruise, and he just hoped it wouldn’t swell over his eye. He needed it to function. Walking beside him, Bokuto was nursing a split lip and a bruised sense of dignity. Uriel was twice his size, and after Bokuto’s impressive attack in Akaashi’s defense, would have broken every bone in his body if it weren’t for the Watcher’s intervention.

 

They were headed to Yhada’s Temple, which more qualified for the name of “shrine” because of its’ tiny size, but it was the best they could get. A raven had come from one of the settlements, bearing news of a great discovery: the Watchers there had apparently discovered the beast’s nest. It had been unused for some time, but it could provide valuable information. Before such a journey, it was customary to undergo the Tadeozale — a sacred bath ritual to grant them Yhada’s protection. The priest greeted them on the front steps of the small, round building. He was Imlerith’s father, but unlike his son, he was a kind, mellow man. The only similarity was the long, perfectly straight and perfectly black hair.

 

The Temple itself was almost entirely taken up by the pool. A paravan blocked it’s view from the door, and in front of the paravan there was a series of altars and a statue of the Lady of Light herself. Akaashi sprinkled some incense in front of her, whispering a quiet prayer. Although he looked uncomfortable, Bokuto lit a small candle. The priest raised his eyebrow at this, but Akaashi ignored him: he knew Bokuto’s religious beliefs, having heard him swear by Karmillion, Widis or one of the other Betrayer Gods many times. It didn’t bother him.

 

The water was warm against Akaashi’s bare skin when he stepped into the pool. The sunlight filtered in through the glass panels in the roof and refracted off the water, bathing the room in brilliant colors. Akaashi sat down on a ledge and stretched out his legs. The water splashed as Bokuto got in, only to awkwardly sit across the pool from Akaashi.  _ He’s shy _ , he thought, and found it cute.

 

‘Do we just sit here…?’ Bokuto’s quiet voice drifted over the water. He was looking around himself with unease. 

 

‘Focus on Yhada’s energy, ask for her protection.’ Akaashi repeated the priest’s words. Concentration invoked the Lady, who would step down from her throne in the sky and bless the water, which would infuse their bodies with her protection and light. Or something. Bokuto looked uncomfortable at the thought, so Akaashi quickly added: ‘Or one of your gods. Just quietly. They don’t like… your gods here.’ He bit his tongue before he called them the Betrayer Gods — he didn’t know if that was offensive or not.

 

As they each focused on their respective deities, the runes in the walls began to glow. Slowly, their light transferred to the water, which began to glow faintly. Akaashi opened his eyes as a warm feeling bloomed in his chest, assuring him of Yhada’s presence. Across the pool, Bokuto had his eyes squeezed shut, but he’d relaxed against the edge of the pool — and Akaashi was momentarily distracted.

 

Bokuto was handsome, he knew that. He had kind eyes and a beautiful smile, he knew that. Bokuto was athletic and would have the body of a fighter, he knew that. But it was one thing to  _ know _ something and another to  _ see _ it in all its glory. Bokuto was well built, with wide shoulders and nice —  _ really nice _ — muscles. There was a tattoo on the inside of his bicep that Akaashi had not previously seen. It was writing, foreign, and it looked like some sort of saying or quote. Akaashi barely got lost in imagining those arms wrapped around him when the water began to glow with more intensity.

 

It was a normal part of the ritual, and he wasn’t worried about it.

 

Until his eyes adjusted to the light and he saw Bokuto on the other side of the pool.

 

Before, Bokuto had been relaxed, leaning back against the edge with his arms propped up. Now, Akaashi watched as he winced, and his eyes flickered open with a groan. Bokuto’s mouth fell open as if he was struggling to breathe, and Akaashi was wading across the pool— Bokuto was in pain. When Akaashi grabbed him, holding him upright, his hand clutched his for dear life. His breathing was ragged and shallow, and broken with curses in a foreign language. 

 

Just as Akaashi was about to call for the priest to do something, the light increased to the point where he had to close his eyes, and Bokuto cried out. His body slumped against Akaashi’s, and he almost lost his balance, and clung on. Squinting against the blinding light, he could only watch in shock as scars bloomed all over Bokuto’s body.

 

They filled in with black ink. Not scars —  _ tattoos _ .

 

They crawled up Bokuto’s spine, much like the ones Akaashi himself had, but these weren’t Yhada’s runes. They branched out over his back like a tree, snaking down his right arm. With every piece of skin they conquered, Bokuto seemed to suffer ten times more. Blood began to drip into the water where his nails had cut Akaashi’s skin. Finally, as the light reached a crescendo and Akaashi was forced to fully close his eyes, Bokuto gave one last cry and fell silent. When Akaashi opened his eyes, the light was gone. Bokuto was breathing normally again, but he was still holding Akaashi’s hand. The water around them was stained red, but that too, faded into nothingness the longer Akaashi stared.

 

‘Are you okay?’ Akaashi asked, and was surprised to find his voice was trembling. ‘What was that?’

 

‘I don’t know!’ Bokuto’s voice was hoarse, strained. He seemed ready to cry. He let go of Akaashi’s hand, and leaned back against the edge of the pool. ‘I need to… before the priest sees.’

 

Nodding dumbly, Akaashi helped him out of the pool.

 

The priest anointed them both with holy oil — a drop on the bridge of their noses that Akaashi always itched to wipe off — and sent them on their way. If he heard Bokuto’s screams, saw the tattoos peeking through the white of Bokuto’s shirt or saw the red water, he didn’t let on, and Akaashi wasn’t about to hang around and see.

 

\---

 

Bokuto spent a long time looking in the mirror at his tattoos. Most of them seemed to appear on his back, so Akaashi gave him another mirror so he could see them better. They were beautiful, in a freakish, otherworldly way. No human artist could replicate the level of detail, let alone on human skin. 

 

Up Bokuto’s spine, there was now a tree trunk, but where there should have been branches, there were wings, spilling out over Bokuto’s skin. Three pairs of them: one pair over the shoulders, one pair in the middle, and one pair pointing downward. Up the centre of the trunk, there were spaces where there was no ink — obviously shaped like runes, but none that Akaashi recognized. Without thinking, he reached out and gently touched the topmost one, the one that landed in the centre of the six wings with his fingers. Bokuto inhaled sharply, and Akaashi took his hand back. His skin felt like it was on fire.

 

‘How bad is it?’ Bokuto asked in a small voice. His shoulders drooped forward, and he was staring at himself with unseeing eyes.

 

‘They’re beautiful.’ Akaashi said, because he didn’t know what to say, and because it was true. ‘I don’t understand how you got them, but…’ He trailed off. But  _ what _ ?

 

Bokuto turned around, and Akaashi saw that there were more tattoos. Two constellations curved along his collarbones, each star intricately marked and named, but in an alphabet Akaashi couldn’t understand. Bokuto stretched out his right arm towards him, palm upwards, and Akaashi saw the snake: almost lifelike, it curled around Bokuto’s bicep, down his forearm, culminating in a head on the inside of Bokuto’s palm, the tongue reaching out toward Bokuto’s ring finger. 

 

Akaashi reached out to touch it, once again without thinking, but his finger froze, hovering over the perfect diamond on top of it’s head. Bokuto took his hand in his, and gently traced the snake. Bokuto’s skin burned at Akaashi’s finger.

 

‘What the fuck is it, Akaashi?’ Bokuto asked in a whisper, and Akaashi looked up, startled out of his trance.

 

Bokuto didn’t look like himself. His eyes were dull, and he was looking at Akaashi with unbridled fear. There was a bruise on his jaw, and his lip was split. Most noticeably however, there were three lines curling over his cheekbone.

 

‘I…’ Akaashi tried, but his voice failed him. He wasn’t used to being so close to him. ‘I don’t know.’

 

They stayed like that for a while, just looking at one another. Bokuto’s hand holding Akaashi’s, Akaashi  _ very _ aware of how fast and loud his heart was beating. Bokuto had a strange look on his face, but when he opened his mouth to say something, Akaashi interrupted him, pulling away.

 

‘We have a long day ahead.’ he said, dumbly. ‘You should rest.’

 

Bokuto scoffed, also looking away. Akaashi didn’t miss the way he cradled the hand that been holding his close to his chest as if it were injured. ‘I need to get stupidly drunk to fall asleep after that.’ 

 

Akaashi smiled at that, and pulled out a dusty case that had been stashed under his bed for Yhada-knew-how-long. He held up a bottle in each hand. ‘Nightpetal or Torrent?’

 

\---

 

The alcohol was good. Strong, too. Akaashi sat in silence, listening to Bokuto talk, feeling giddier and giddier by the minute. He’d never had a strong head for alcohol. Bokuto had finished half of the bottle of Torrent — the stronger of the two — and showed no signs of being tipsy, while Akaashi had drank two glasses of Nightpetal and already wanted to giggle at the world.

 

Bokuto was telling him about his early childhood. He didn’t have many friends when he grew up, and his parents were killed when he was a teenager — he suspected it was the same beast they were hunting right now, because of the piles and piles of feathers he’d found — and he moved in with his best friend. Kuroo was like a brother to him, until… Bokuto hesitated, and Akaashi remembered that the last thing Bokuto saw before waking up outside Miyagi was Kuroo taking watch. He didn’t want to laugh anymore. He wanted to cry.

 

But then Bokuto shook his head, and gave him a smile, and started asking about Akaashi. Akaashi didn’t remember what he said: if he was too honest, if he was too closed-off. All he remembered were feelings. Warm feelings when Bokuto laughed at something he said, the way his heart sped up when Bokuto playfully ruffled his hair, and the way his stomach flipped when Bokuto’s arm remained on Akaashi’s shoulders like a comfortable weight. He hadn’t felt this way since Konoha… 

 

\---

 

Akaashi woke up to the sound of the Dawnfather’s horn. It blew once, and longer than usual, joyously announcing to everyone a night devoid of death. Akaashi groaned and turned over onto his side… and came face-to-face with a head of fluffy gray and black hair.

 

Somewhere in their drunken state, they’d fallen asleep tangled together. Akaashi’s arm was under Bokuto’s head, and their legs were woven together like some kind of braid. He felt delightfully warm, hot even, where Bokuto’s body was touching his. He stopped moving — stopped  _ breathing _ — and just stared. Bokuto slept peacefully, and even the tattoos on his cheekbone and the tattooed hand entwined with Akaashi’s couldn’t steal that peace from him. 

 

Something about the sight made Akaashi’s chest ache. A part of him that he’d kept silent for a long time  _ yearned _ for this. For waking up every morning next to someone, warm and safe. Akaashi watched as Bokuto’s nose twitched, and he sleepily scratched it before rolling over and pulling Akaashi closer. Akaashi could definitely get used to this. He allowed himself to brush a strand of Bokuto’s hair out of his eyes. 

 

Then, as he realized what he was doing and what he was thinking, he shook his head and quickly disentangled himself from Bokuto’s embrace. Not in this life. Not in this world. Not while the beasts roamed beneath their feet and either of them could die. Akaashi couldn’t bear that kind of pain again. He splashed cold water on his face to sober himself up, spooked by the familiar, light feeling in his chest. When he wasn’t looking, Bokuto had repaired his tired heart and stolen it. 

 

On the bed, Bokuto stirred, arms knocking on the wall as he stretched out his sleep-heavy muscles. The bed creaked as he got up and shuffled over to the basin. 

 

‘Morning…’ Bokuto drawled, and bumped his head lightly on Akaashi’s shoulder. Akaashi couldn’t help but smile at that. He moved aside to let Bokuto wash his face, and slid the towel off the rail. As he rubbed at his face, he tried to calm his racing heart, but it didn’t work.

 

Bokuto was looking at him strangely when he dropped the towel. Akaashi hadn’t had someone look at him like that in a long, long time. It gave him butterflies.

 

‘You’re really handsome, Akaashi.’ Bokuto said, keeping very still.

 

‘People don’t usually call me that.’ Akaashi found himself saying, not knowing why or how.

 

‘Oh?’ Bokuto seemed to surprised by that. ‘Well, you are.’

 

‘Thank you.’

 

There was a pause, as if Bokuto was tethering on a cliff of saying and  _ not _ saying something. The bubble popped when Akaashi turned away sharply, instead focusing on putting the towel back in its’ place. He could feel Bokuto’s eyes on him as he walked away, but he stubbornly kept going. Eventually, Bokuto looked away and began to pull on his boots. Akaashi wanted to punch himself.


	4. It Felt Like A Lightning Strike

After what felt like years of climbing, Akaashi made it to the top of tree and could sit and rest on a branch. Beside him perched Bokuto, who’d made it up long before him. The nest was built from straw, twigs, wood, anything that was bendy enough, and padded with moss and grass and a red blanket. Akaashi didn’t want to think where  _ that _ came from. 

 

‘D’you think it’s the beast’s?’ Bokuto asked, stepping into the nest proper. He crouched down and flapped his arms, pretending to be a bird.

 

‘It’s the right size.’ Akaashi watched him tiredly. He still hadn’t recovered his breath after climbing the monstrous tree. He sat there on the branch, swinging his feet over the path below, watching as Bokuto compared a number of different feathers to the ones they’d collected in Miyagi. He liked to chew on his bottom lip when he focused like this, and his brows furrowed whenever he had to toss a feather aside that didn’t match. It was cute.

 

Eventually, Bokuto knelt in the nest and groaned loudly. ‘None of these match, ‘Kaashi.’ he said, and chucked another feather aside. ‘We came here for nothing.’

 

Akaashi climbed over to him, and picked a feather out of his hair. He didn’t know how Bokuto had managed to get it there in the first place, but he wasn’t exactly surprised either. Bokuto was full of surprises.

 

‘We might’ve gotten flight feathers in Miyagi. These could be down feathers.’ Akaashi said, even though he knew his theory was bullshit. There were pieces of egg shells in the nest, but beasts didn’t reproduce. And the shells were clearly Greater Condor shells. He was beginning to think whoever reported the “beast’s lair” just wanted to cause a sensation.

 

‘You don’t even believe that yourself,’ Bokuto laughed. He accepted Akaashi’s hand and allowed himself to be pulled up. Akaashi made to move away, but Bokuto held his hand tightly and kept him where he was.

 

They looked at each other in silence, Bokuto asking a question with his eyes, Akaashi too scared to answer it.  _ Kiss me _ , he wanted to say,  _ please _ . But he couldn’t do anything but stand there and wait, listening to the wild beating of his heart in his ears. Somewhere in the distance, there was the anguished cry of the Great Condor, discovering that strangers had raided it’s nest, but Bokuto didn’t even look away. So Akaashi stood and stared at Bokuto’s eyes, made into molten gold by the sunlight breaking through the branches.

 

After what felt like eternity, Bokuto said his name. Gently, as if Akaashi would spook if he said it any louder. Akaashi made a strangled little sound in response.  _ Please _ .  _ Please, kiss me _ . This time, Bokuto seemed to understand. The hand that wasn’t holding Akaashi’s lifted to gently tilt Akaashi’s face upwards, and Bokuto leaned in very slowly, giving Akaashi a chance to move away — he didn’t.

 

Then he kissed him.

 

It felt like a lightning strike, rattling Akaashi to his very core.

 

He’d been kissed before. He’d felt this before. But he’d  _ never _ had craved it as much as he had over the past days. All of a sudden, blood was rushing around his body and he was feeling more than he’d allowed himself to feel since— he didn’t want to think about that. All he wanted to think about was the way Bokuto kissed him, like he was the most precious thing in the universe.

 

The world faded away as they kissed, and kissed, and kissed. The Hunt, the Condor, the strange beast wreaking havoc throughout the land. Akaashi forgot all about it, for the first time since he was six years old. Bokuto let go of his hand in favour of twining their fingers together. His hand was rough, rougher than Akaashi’s, but he didn’t mind. 

 

How could he?

 

\---

 

Akaashi stared at the ceiling of his room, unblinking. The room was dim, lit by only one candle. The bed was hard under his back. He could hear the hum of conversation in the street outside as a crowd tried to tease more information out of Bokuto. Akaashi himself had escaped as soon as he got the front door, leaving Bokuto to tell everyone about the nest.

 

He had a lot to think about, so he sat and thought while the bath water slowly cooled around him. Then, he got out and dressed and lay on his bed and thought some more.

 

He loved Bokuto. That part wasn’t hard. 

 

He was scared of losing him. That was a little hard.

 

He wanted to live a long, happy life with him. Grow old and gray together and live out their days.  _ That _ was the most difficult thing to admit. 

 

After Konoha’s death, Akaashi had stopped believing he’d see sixty, let alone a time when he was gray and old. If Konoha never made it, why should  _ he _ ? He devoted himself completely to his work, and from then on, he couldn’t imagine himself dying in any other way but by the Hunt, taken before his time. He hadn’t let himself consider another option.

 

But now…

 

He wanted to live. 

 

The door creaked open, and Bokuto slid quietly into the room, candle in hand. He closed the door with his foot and walked over to the bed, setting the candle down on the table as he went. The bed dipped a little when he sat down beside Akaashi.

 

‘Are you okay?’ he asked. He looked guilty. It hurt to look at him like that. Bokuto had a face that deserved to be peppered with kisses and  _ smiling _ , not frowning like a scolded puppy. ‘I’m sorry about earlier… I didn’t mean to upset you.’

 

‘You didn’t upset me.’ Akaashi assured him, quickly. Awkwardly, he rested his hand on Bokuto’s. Affection was something he forgot a long time ago, but he thought that with time, he could relearn. ‘I just had a lot to think about.’ 

 

Bokuto didn’t say anything, but Akaashi saw some of the tension leave his shoulders as he propped himself up on one arm, leaning diagonally over Akaashi’s waist. 

 

‘You know…’ It was easier to say it when he wasn’t looking at Bokuto, so Akaashi studied the wall opposite. ‘I was in love once. The kind of love that makes even the most mundane things feel like a great adventure. Then… We were out collecting corpses for burning when a Daylighter jumped out of the bushes. I was too slow to save him. Too slow to do anything, really.’ Akaashi swallowed. It hurt to say it, but at the same time, his chest felt lighter with every word. ‘I killed the beast, but he was already dead.’

 

‘I’m sorry.’

 

‘Don’t be,’ Akaashi shook his head, still not meeting Bokuto’s eyes. ‘I was devastated. I didn’t feel like living anymore. I just kind of… lost myself in my job.’ He took a deep breath. ‘And then you came along. I didn’t like you very much at first.’ he felt Bokuto gasp playfully, and then chuckle beside him. ‘But then I just… kind of fell for you. Like an idiot.’ He finally dared look at Bokuto, and found him smiling. ‘So I’m really, really glad you kissed me.’

 

‘I can do it again, if you like.’ Bokuto’s tone was teasing. ‘And again and again, if you like it so much.’

 

Akaashi didn’t say anything, just laughed and pulled Bokuto down by the front of his shirt. Bokuto smiled into the kiss, and Akaashi let his hands wander, sliding into Bokuto’s hair. He’d wanted to do that for what felt like ages: it was softer than he’d imagined. And Bokuto liked it when he tugged at it — he hadn’t anticipated that, but now that he discovered it, he liked it.

 

\---

 

Akaashi shot up in bed, breathing heavily. He was sweating, and his hands were shaking uncontrollably. He’d had a nightmare, which were a common occurrence overall, but this particular one — he wanted to throw up. It started like it always did. He was walking in the forest, his bow drawn, tracking  _ something _ , even though back then he’d been dragging a body by a claw. He cleared a thicker bunch of bushes, and came face to face with a beast — a daylighter.

 

Usually, he was forced to stand rooted to the ground and watch as the daylighter ripped into Konoha. This time, Konoha already lay in the tall grass, and  _ Bokuto _ was the one fighting the daylighter with his bare hands. For a moment, it seemed like he would win, like he could rip the cursed thing in half, then the beast lunged for his neck and— Akaashi woke up.

 

‘Hey,’ Bokuto’s voice was soft in his ear, his arm warm around his shoulders. ‘Hey, Akaashi.’

 

‘I didn’t mean to wake you.’ Of course — an apology had to be the first thing out of Akaashi’s mouth, even when his lover was pulling him close, eyes worried. 

 

‘You screamed my name.’ Bokuto said, very quietly. He gently carded his fingers through Akaashi’s hair and Akaashi wanted to break down and cry at how tenderly he was being treated.

 

‘I watched you die.’ Akaashi said, quietly.

 

His heart raced for a long while after that, and whenever he closed his eyes, he’d see  _ that _ scene again. But with time, as Bokuto lay there next to him, stroking his hair and singing him a song from his homeland, Akaashi’s muscles began to relax, and he fell asleep, nestled near Bokuto, the drum of his heart a comforting sound in his ear.

 

\---

 

Early one morning, Akaashi found a package waiting on their doorstep to the sound of the Dawnfather’s horn, announcing two deaths. It was wrapped in simple brown paper and unmarked, besides his name, scrawled on the front. There was nobody in the street, so he took it inside, hoping it wasn’t some sort of explosive — he didn’t want to deal with patching up a hole in the roof today. 

 

The paper and string came off easily, until Akaashi was left with a heavy tome in hand. Wary of Bokuto, who was still peacefully sleeping, Akaashi lit another candle and sat down at the table with the tome. 

 

On the cover, there was a symbol that he vaguely recognized as the Scholars’ Mark, a sigil used by a gathering of people who devoted their lives to rescuing and collecting books and scrolls, instead of seeking comfort, often putting their lives on the line to recover a valuable artefact. They transcribed these books, and kept the originals under lock and key in an old fortress. The replicas were distributed around the cities and settlements in a bid to educate the land’s populace.

 

The pages were yellowed, and there was a little bit of water damage on the bottom corner. With a strange feeling, Akaashi realized he wasn’t holding a replica, but a pre-Hunt original. There was a bookmark — a simple red card — tucked into the book, and Akaashi flipped to the page, careful not to tear the valuable pages. In the dim light of the candle, he began to read.

 

The tome a story of a time long ago, a time before the Hunt. Before Akaashi’s furthest ancestors were born. A time when the Betrayer Gods weren’t Betrayer Gods, and when their relationship with the humans was much closer. When the gods would appear before the mortal man, and he could speak to them like they were of one mother. 

 

The tale took place in a country across the ocean, and told of a group of people, who rebelled against the gods. Who got too comfortable in calling a god their equal, and decided they would not have them existing alongside themselves. They sought for a way to kill the gods, and upon making a contract with the predecessor of the Hunt, managed to severely wound one of the gods — Verne. In retribution, Verne, harnessing the joint power of himself and his fellow gods; Widis, Othellia, Karmillion and Seiloum — Yhada once more refused to take part — created a punishment for the humans.

 

The painting was faded with age, but Akaashi recognized it immediately. Long wings, owl’s face, claws. It was the same beast that he’d been unsuccessfully hunting for weeks. He read on, heart racing.

 

To trick the humans, the beast walked amongst them, appearing like a mortal. Nothing physical distinguished it from any other human — except that when the gods willed it so, it transformed into the monstrosity it really was, and wreaked havoc in towns and villages.

 

The killing continued for months, but the humans saw this as confirmation that they were right in turning away from their gods. Once more, a bargain was struck with the Hunt, and a weapon was crafted to fight it. The author of the passage had helpfully included instructions, and Akaashi scanned over them, not believing it was true. It seemed too perfect to suddenly find an antidote to their curse, and in so much detail—

 

A golden sword, anointed with holy oils toward the four winds of the world. Four runes were scratched into it’s blade, and as long as they remained undamaged, the blade could wound the beast. Three of the four runes Akaashi knew. They were inked onto his body, after all.  _ Igni, quen, yrden _ . Where the fourth rune would have been written, there was a single brown drop. Akaashi wondered briefly if it was blood.

 

There were hundreds of sacred runes, each sorted into its own category: sacred runes, a divine rune for each of the gods, cursed runes for the different beasts, rite runes.  _ Igni _ ,  _ quen _ and  _ yrden _ were the three rite runes — there wasn’t a fourth rite rune. Finding the missing rune — if it was even known to mankind — amongst all the others was doable, but tedious. 

 

Akaashi pulled over a piece of paper and pen, and wrote down the runes as if he were writing them down the blade:  _ igni, quen, yrden _ … he stared at the paper.  _ Eras _ ? No, that didn’t fit.  _ Vuell _ ? That too, didn’t feel right.

 

Akaashi sighed. It was going to be a long day. He alternated between reading through the passage, searching for any hints, and leafing through his worn runebook, searching for a rune that felt right. He had nothing else to go off of, after all. 

 

Bokuto woke up a few hours after he found the book, and joined him at the table, blinking sleepily. Akaashi explained his find too him, and Bokuto cheered so loudly one of Akaashi’s neighbours banged on the wall and told him to shut up. Which he did, sheepishly. He didn’t have the patience for runes, so instead he went off toward the Ranger’s stores in search of a suitable sword, and dropped off a rapport to the Marshal’s offices.

 

By mid-afternoon, Akaashi’s hand was cramping, his eyes hurt and his back ached. But he didn’t let himself stop; it was the first solid and  _ believable _ — unlike the nest — lead he had on the beast, and he wasn’t going to take it easy. He wasn’t going to let the Dawnfather announce another terribly high death toll. He wasn’t going to bring that blood onto his and Bokuto’s hands. Imlerith and Uriel were right — people were dying because Akaashi had been in over his head.

 

‘Come on, Akaashi,’ Bokuto drawled, arms resting on Akaashi’s shoulders. The golden sword lay where he’d chucked it onto the sofa, lazily wrapped in a cloth. ‘Take a break.’

 

‘More people are going to die if we don’t figure this out soon.’ Akaashi said, as he crossed out another rune. It wasn’t  _ lonn _ either. He flipped to the next page of the runebook, titled  _ cursed runes _ . He doubted it would be here, but he still scanned over the symbols, mentally adding them to the mantra of  _ igni, quen, yrden… Igni, quen, yrden… Igni, quen, yrden _ ...

 

‘You won’t find it if you’re tired.’ Bokuto made a compelling argument, especially since he paired it with a light massaging of Akaashi’s sore back. ‘You might even miss it entirely.’ He leaned down and Akaashi felt his warm breath on his neck, and shivered. Bokuto lightly kissed the juncture of Akaashi’s neck and shoulder and straightened back up — a suggestion, an invitation… a distraction.

 

Akaashi tried to concentrate. He really did. But he was only human in the end, and threw his pen down onto the table, choosing to stand up abruptly and pull Bokuto in for a kiss instead.

 

Kissing Bokuto was the one thing he was sure he’d never tire of. Bokuto was a great kisser, and Akaashi  _ really _ liked the way his hands tended to wander, squeezing here, tugging there… It was easy to relax, to forget about the nightmare going on outside, and just kiss him. For a brief moment, he wondered if this was why the gods had left love in the world when they’d taken away happiness — so that broken, lonely people could find a moment of solace in the arms of another.

 

Bokuto broke away from the kiss for a moment and tilted his head suggestively toward the bed, a question in his eyes. Akaashi sighed, and dropped his hands from where they’d wound themselves around Bokuto’s neck.

 

‘I really need to find that rune, Bo.’ Akaashi said, giving him one last, chaste kiss. He wanted to — gods only knew how badly he wanted him — but his sense of purpose and the workaholic nature that he’d developed over the years was already tugging at his conscience. ‘I’m sorry.’

 

Bokuto didn’t say anything, but he kissed Akaashi’s forehead just above his brow bone and let him go. Akaashi sat down in his chair and picked up his pen, stubbornly ignoring how his hand trembled and how his blood drummed in his ears. Meanwhile Bokuto marched himself into the bathroom. After a moment, Akaashi heard the sound of the bathtub being filled.

 

_ Axii _ . The rune was  _ axii _ . By the time Akaashi stumbled onto it, the perfect lines of runes had blurred into blobs on paper, and he’d covered a small stack of paper with his scribbles of  _ igni, quen, yrden _ … and whatever rune he was trying out.

 

He almost skipped over  _ axii _ — it had been scribbled in pencil at the bottom of one of the pages. It was one of the many forgotten runes: runes used centuries ago, but fallen out of use over time. Akaashi must’ve heard it somewhere and written it down into his book during his years of study. The Akaashi from back then didn’t think to include its definition, but Akaashi didn’t needed it to know the rune fit perfectly, because as soon as he finished the last line of  _ axii _ on the paper, the ink began to glow and pulse a faint red, in time to his own heartbeat.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter (Chapter 5) is the smut chapter. Feel free to skip it for your own comfort! The scene was specifically cut and placed in a seperate chapter to allow for easy skipping in case of discomfort <3


	5. Fuck Me In An Actual Bed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the smut chapter, as you’ve probably gathered from the title. Feel free to skip it for your own comfort! The scene was specifically cut and placed in a seperate chapter to allow for easy skipping in case of discomfort <3

Akaashi nudged the last cupboard shut, and chucked the dishcloth back in its place. He stared at the peeling white paint for a moment, distracted. He had a lot on his mind — especially now that he’d stopped  _ slacking _ , developments were coming one after the other. If he was honest with himself, he didn’t understand the “how” and “why” of the story, but one thing was for certain. Once the blade had bonded to the runes, he had a weapon prepared to end the beast’s crusade. To save the city from—

 

Bokuto wrapped his arms around his waist and pulled him close, and all thoughts of the beast and destiny or whatever it was went clean out the window as Akaashi leaned back against him, delighting in the feeling. With a hum, Bokuto leaned down to suck gently at Akaashi’s exposed neck, and all Akaashi could do was whimper. 

 

He let Bokuto turn him around and kiss him, and when Bokuto gently swipes his lips with his tongue, asking for permission, Akaashi is more than willing to give it to him. Not for a moment did Bokuto’s hands stop wandering, leaving Akaashi’s skin burning in their wake. When Bokuto’s hands made their way over his thighs, Akaashi could feel himself begin to tremble. He’d been wanting —  _ needing _ — this for so long. He’d denied himself of it, he knows, but instead of thinking about  _ that _ , he let himself get lost in Bokuto’s kisses.

 

When they parted, Akaashi’s head was spinning, and they were both breathing heavily. Bokuto gave him a crooked grin that Akaashi felt way down in the pit of his stomach before kissing him again, with even more fire this time, backing him up against the kitchen counter, his knee between Akaashi’s legs. His hands fumble with the string of Akaashi’s shirt, and then Akaashi has to disentangle his hands from Bokuto’s hair to let him pull it up over his head. Bokuto’s hands dropped to Akaashi’s thighs and he lifted him up as if he were a feather, sitting him on the counter.

 

‘Wait.’ Akaashi put his hand on Bokuto’s chest. ‘Wait.’ He repeated, as he struggled to get his breath back.

 

‘Do you want to stop?’ Bokuto asked. He kept Akaashi suspended like that, half-perched on the kitchen counter, half-held up by the strength of Bokuto’s arms alone.

 

‘No,’ Akaashi said. He dropped his voice, just a little: ‘I want you to fuck me in an actual bed.’

 

Akaashi was sure he wouldn’t quickly forget Bokuto’s reaction. The wide-eyed surprise at Akaashi’s bluntness, then the smirk and somewhat predatory look that set into his eyes as they darkened… it made the heat pooling between his legs burn a million times hotter.

 

Bokuto’s shirt had buttons, and it took all of Akaashi’s self control to not rip them apart as they backed, still kissing, across the room to the bed. Eventually, the last button came undone and Akaashi could tug the cursed garment off of Bokuto’s shoulders and chuck it across the room.

 

Bokuto pushed him backwards onto the bed, a little rough gesture that Akaashi had to admit he loved. With his knee, Bokuto nudged Akaashi’s legs apart. The bed dipped when he sank down to hover over him. Bokuto made quick work of Akaashi’s pants and undergarments, and they joined their shirts on the floor. The cool air made Akaashi suck in a breath.

 

With a smile that Akaashi could only describe as  _ mischievous _ , Bokuto moved away from him and readjusted himself on the bed. Dizzy, Akaashi watched as Bokuto took his hard cock into his hand, and kissed the tip. With a whine, Akaashi let his head fall back against the pillows and got lost in the heat of Bokuto’s mouth. Using his tongue, Bokuto eased up his length, taking him as deep as he could. With a breathy curse, Akaashi propped himself up on one elbow, his hand reaching for Bokuto’s hair. He tugged his lover’s hair free of the leather string, and combed his fingers through it, delighting in the resulting shiver that ran through Bokuto’s body, and his groan. 

 

Bokuto is amazing: it’s be easy to get lost in just this, but Akaashi is impatient. He knows what he’s craving, what he  _ needs _ , and that’s more than just Bokuto’s mouth around his cock and his hand in his hair. He gives Bokuto’s hair a short little tug, and his lover raises his head.

 

‘Hmm?’

 

‘Fuck me,’ Akaashi says, surprised at the low pitch of his own, breathless voice. ‘ _ Please _ .’ he adds, for good measure. This time, Bokuto isn’t so surprised by his bluntness, or his filthy mouth. Instead, he grins, and comes back up. Akaashi digs his hand under the bed, searching for the vial that had been waiting, exactly for this— he slips it into Bokuto’s hand with a kiss and a gentle bite at his lower lip. 

 

Bokuto kisses him back, then flips him over and once more, Akaashi has to bite his lip not to groan. Why does he like being manhandled so much? He doesn’t get to think twice about it, because he hears the sound of the cork being popped — and  _ that _ has only one association. He spreads his legs wide and tries to remember how to breathe. He needs it so badly. He’d dreamt of it, dreamt of the way it would feel, to have Bokuto take him, make him forget about everything.

 

Bokuto lubed his fingers up and slowly spread one around Akaashi’s entrance. Akaashi fought the urge to push back against it: the memory of the dark look in Bokuto’s eyes told him he wouldn’t let him anyway. He relaxed, and told himself it’ll be worth it — even if his neediness is killing him in that moment. His lover was merciful, and didn’t make him wait too long until the first finger slid in.  _ Ohh _ , how Akaashi loved his hands. His finger curled and twisted and Akaashi groaned loudly into the night air, earning himself a chuckle from Bokuto as a second finger joined the first.

 

This time, Akaashi couldn’t control himself: he wanted  _ more _ . He rolled his hips in time to Bokuto’s fingers, moving inside of him. Bokuto scissored his fingers, and arched them, just barely  _ grazing _ Akaashi’s prostate. The teasing made Akaashi whimper again, and he heard Bokuto let out a breathy chuckle behind him. 

 

‘ _ Please, again _ —’ And Bokuto did it again, and again, massaging in circles until Akaashi’s legs shook and he was quite sure he’d lost any sanity he’d had left. ‘More, please—  _ a-ahhh _ .’

 

The third finger came with a slight burn, and Akaashi rocked back against Bokuto’s hand. His lover smoothed his hand down Akaashi’s back, leaving tingling skin in his wake. He kept his movements steady, scissoring them as deep as he could. Akaashi’s whole body was shaking, and he came up onto his knees, stuffing his face in the pillows to muffle the sounds spilling from his lips like a waterfall.

 

‘Lift your head,’ he heard Bokuto say. ‘I want to hear you.’

 

Akaashi does as he’s told and lifts his head, letting his moans spill out into the night air. ‘Bokuto, please— please just  _ fuck me already _ .’ He could see Bokuto looking at him, admiring him as he bit his lip, and it only made the need worse. ‘I  _ need _ you, Koutarou.’ The sound of his name had the effect of a thunderstrike on Bokuto. Akaashi shivered at the sight, and called his name again. ‘Koutarou,  _ fuck me _ .’ He wanted to cry at the horrible, empty feeling when Bokuto withdrew his hand. He heard the sound of the cork popping, and then Bokuto’s hands were on his hips, and he was going almost insane with want. 

 

‘Ready?’ 

 

Akaashi bobbed his head lazily in affirmation, and opened his mouth to say so, but what escaped his lips instead of a “ready”, was a long, drawn-out moan as Bokuto pushed in slowly. Somewhere through the haze of sensation, Akaashi heard Bokuto call upon Karmillion in a low groan. Bit by bit, Bokuto sank deeper until there was no more of him left and Akaashi was clutching at the bedsheets on the verge of overwhelmed tears, because  _ fucking finally _ .

 

He straightened up, pressed himself flush against Bokuto’s chest. He felt the roughness of Bokuto’s hands as they held him close, felt the length of his cock inside of him, felt his warm, uneven, breath on his ear, and in a quiet, ragged voice, he said: ‘ _ Fuck _ .’

 

When he twisted around to look Bokuto in the eye, he found him already looking at him the way he’d craved for so long. As if Akaashi — and fucking him — was the only thing that mattered in the world. As if there was no other place he’d rather be. Akaashi kissed him, with unrestrained desire, and Bokuto matched him.

 

At first, Bokuto moved his hips slowly, dragging out each movement, but before long, he was fucking into him roughly, making the bed shake. Seeking a better angle and more pleasure, Akaashi leaned forward onto his hands and knees, clutching at the pillows for dear life. He couldn’t form a coherent thought, not with the amount of sensation sparking around his body, so he let his body do what it wanted to do and let Bokuto hear his voice, like  _ he _ wanted. 

 

Bokuto reaches for his cock, and Akaashi’s already  _ so close _ — it’s not long before he feels that Bokuto is close, too. His back arches, and Bokuto’s hand clamps down on his hip, keeping him in place. With a swift move of his hips, he sends Bokuto over the edge. Bokuto cries out his name as he climaxes, and Akaashi almost doesn’t hear it over his own cry as he tips over the edge, so delightfully full. They ride out the waves together, before Akaashi falls down onto the bed, and Bokuto sits back on his haunches.

 

‘Gods, Keiji.’ Bokuto says after a moment, and Akaashi just grins. He ignores how filthy they both are when Bokuto lay down next to him, pulling him close.

 

Still throbbing with his heart racing, Akaashi looked at Bokuto through half-lidded eyes. Bokuto returned the look, paired with a delightfully fucked-out grin. He looked beautiful, Akaashi thought, beautiful and absolutely wrecked. There were a couple red marks on his neck — ones Akaashi didn’t quite remember making, but wasn’t surprised he had — that would bloom purple and blue. His longer hair was a mess, courtesy of Akaashi’s fingers, and his cheeks were flushed from the exercise.

 

Akaashi was already halfway into a content sleep after being thoroughly fucked by the time Bokuto lifted him up and carried him to the bathroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title and the line were brought to you byy darling friend (@aakaashi) who keeps making me lose my mind with clever one-liners.


	6. Kou

Like always, Akaashi woke just before the Dawnfather began to announce the night’s death toll. It was two or three — Akaashi really didn’t pay attention. He was pleasantly warm all over, and a familiar ache had settled in his limbs. He rolled over, and found Bokuto already looking at him.

 

‘Moooorning,’ Bokuto sang, grinning down at him. ‘Didya sleep well? I made breakfast.’

 

‘I love you,’ Akaashi mumbled, because the air really did smell of breakfast — a pile of steaming pancakes sat on the table, filling the air with their delicious aroma. He wondered how Bokuto had known when he’d wake up, so that they’d be ready and still warm.

 

‘Because I made you food?’ Bokuto helped him up.

 

‘It’s definitely a point in your favour,’ Akaashi joked lazily, shivering in the chilly air of his home. Bokuto wrapped the blanket around him, and laughed because Akaashi looked like one of the old ladies that sat on their front steps and loudly commented on the goings-on. Akaashi mimicked one of their voices, complaining about the weather and about the “kids these days”, and Bokuto howled with laughter. Akaashi stood there, bundled up in his blanket, grinning, because there was nothing more beautiful than that sound and that feeling.

 

They were partially through their breakfast, when they heard the commotion. Akaashi, still swathed in his blanket, grabbed his dagger and shuffled over to the door, where Bokuto joined him as he peeked out into the street. The city was alive, the sounds of cheering and whistling rising up into the air. Colourful banners and streamers adorned the fronts of houses, and people were standing in doorways and looking out windows, all dressed in their best clothes. Kids ran around holding little baskets of paper flowers.

 

As the Dawnfather rounded the corner, dressed in his dazzling robes, Akaashi finally remembered what he’d forgotten during the excitement of the previous evening — what the entire city had been talking about out of his earshot. The Savior’s Festival — a festival dedicated to the Queen of the Sky herself, full of color and light and, albeit forced, joy. 

 

Beside him, Bokuto was looking at the parade with stars in his eyes. 

 

‘Didn’t you celebrate Yhada’s festival back home?’ Akaashi asked him, resting his chin on his shoulder. A paper flower had found its way into Bokuto’s hair, but he left it there. It fit the spirit of the day, even if  _ he _ was no longer a big fan of it.

 

‘We did,’ Bokuto didn’t look at him, completely entranced by the colours and music and the sunday-best outfits. Even the Marshal himself, parading as guard behind the Dawnfather, had swapped his Watch black for a forest green, and a child had placed a wreath of flowers into his hair. There were petals stuck in his mustache, and Akaashi couldn’t take him seriously. ‘Not like this, though.’ Bokuto added, like an afterthought. ‘It was all solemn and gray and there was a lot of smoke. I like this way better.’

 

It seemed like something Bokuto would enjoy, yes.

 

‘We can go to the city centre if you like,’ Akaashi said. ‘It’s not like we’re allowed to work.’

 

The Savior’s Festival, once called Yhada’s Feast, was one of the eight festivals kept to some degree by the Old Blood — the people that lived and farmed the earth before the Hunt. The six feasts, one for each god, celebrated with their own flair: Yhada, Karmillion, Widis, Othellia, Seiloum and Verne, as well as Midsummer and Midwinter. Only three of those remained, and one of the feasts’: Yhada’s, as the Good Lady had not abandoned humanity in its hour of need. As a child, Akaashi had loved the feasts. His favourite had been the Feast to Widis, or “Fortune Day”. People would stare at the night sky, looking for signs of the future, burn special herbs, enchant lucky pendants, and scry. The air was so saturated with magic, it was almost tangible. And little Akaashi loved every last bit of it.

 

\---

 

A fair was set up in every district of the city, with food stands, games, competitions and plenty of drink. Knowing that the best games, food and betting pools would be found where the money was, Akaashi led Bokuto through the colourful streets to West City. The first game that caught Bokuto’s attention was being hounded by a gaggle of kids, so Akaashi pulled him away… only for Bokuto to sign up for the arm wrestling competition. 

 

They stood on the sidelines, watching as a big, burly man — the Reigning Champion — smacked hand after hand down onto the table. Bokuto seemed confident, standing with his arms crossed, watching the champion’s technique… until he saw Uriel step up to the platform. His sense of dignity was still bruised from their fight, and Akaashi felt him curl in on himself a little. It was hard not to find Bokuto in a crowd, with his hair being the color it was, and Uriel’s eyes locked on him as he did his rounds around the platform. He gave Bokuto a slow nod, and Bokuto’s hand squeezed Akaashi’s a little tighter.

 

‘He won’t give us any trouble today,’ Akaashi whispered into Bokuto’s ear. ‘Fighting during a Festival’s punished by jail time.’ Bokuto didn’t look convinced.

 

Uriel eventually sat down, and the champion took his hand. The bell was rang, and the match began. Across the platform, Akaashi heard Imlerith hollering and cheering for his lover until his voice gave out. Akaashi had to give it to him — he really went all out, and it seemed to work. Uriel slammed the champion’s hand down on the table so hard the crowd collectively winced.

 

‘You’re up,’ one of the attendees nodded at Bokuto, as on the other side of the platform, Imlerith pulled Uriel in for a celebratory kiss, then sent him back to his chair. A little spark of competitiveness came alive in Akaashi’s chest — he stopped Bokuto halfway up the stairs, and kissed him.

 

‘For good luck!’ he called, and Bokuto grinned. 

 

Akaashi could tell Bokuto was nervous, from the way he walked to the centre of the platform, and the tense way in which he shook Uriel’s hand. They sat down, Bokuto with his back to Akaashi, and the bell rang. Akaashi weaved his way through the crowd so he could see Bokuto’s face and, as a result, missed the beginning of the match, but the crowd’s gasps and muttered curses — there was quite a lot of money going on the man who’d destroyed the Reigning Champion of four years running — told him that they were almost fifty-fifty, if not more in Bokuto’s favour.

 

When he finally wove to the front of the platform, both players were struggling. Their hands tilted a little to Uriel’s side, then to Bokuto’s and then back to the middle, and Akaashi found himself biting his lip in anticipation. Somewhere next to him, Imlerith hollered encouragements, and that little spark burst into a flame. He brought his hands to his mouth to amplify the sound, and began to cheer for Bokuto. Imlerith yelled louder, and so did Akaashi, until the whole crowd was shouting and yelling.

 

It was the most intense match the fair had seen that day.

 

Bokuto won in the end, although not in any way easily — Uriel didn’t stop fighting, even for the last centimetres, and the entire tilt toward the table was slow. The steward rang his bell and Bokuto was declared the winner, and Akaashi almost lost his cool completely in his excitement. Money jingled as bets were paid and winnings were collected, and Uriel stalked off with Imlerith assuring him he was still proud of him. From the stage, Bokuto gave Akaashi a grin fit for a champion.

 

Bokuto did eventually lose his title to a blacksmith from South City, whose daughter was standing in front of Akaashi, clapping her tiny hands and raising her voice as loud as she could for her dad. It made the sour taste of loss a little sweeter.

 

\---

 

Bokuto sulked for a moment, walking with a frown on his face and his hands buried deep in his pockets, Akaashi bumping shoulders with him as they walked. Behind them, the crowd roared as the blacksmith took down another opponent. For the sake of his tiny, adorable daughter, Akaashi hoped he’d win the title. 

 

‘Dagger throwing! I said dagger throwin’! Five silver to enter! Can you throw daggers? Try your hand — win a hundred gold!’ A man’s reedy voice rose up over the crowd, and immediately caught Akaashi’s attention. He liked daggers, he liked throwing them, and he definitely liked the sound of a hundred gold.

 

‘You want to try?’ Bokuto asked, looping an arm around Akaashi’s shoulders, already pulling him towards the stand. ‘I’ll pay for you.’

 

‘I gave you your money,’ Akaashi laughed, but allowed himself to be pulled over without complaint. 

 

They waited for the previous competitor to finish. Akaashi would recognize the long, black hair and scarred hands anywhere — Imlerith lodged four out of the five daggers in the red eye of the board. Beside him, Uriel glared at the gamekeep, most likely suspecting something. Bokuto steered clear of them, instead pulling Akaashi closer to him with an arm around his waist.

 

‘I don’t like them.’ Bokuto whispered into Akaashi’s ear, looking at the two troublemakers with unease. Akaashi just hummed in agreement, and kissed his cheek. Bokuto raised an eyebrow, and before Akaashi could stop it out of sheer embarrassment of doing so in front of a crowd, Bokuto had dipped him in a kiss.

 

‘Ahem,’ the gamekeep called, and Akaashi shot back into a standing position, while Bokuto giggled to himself. ‘Your daggers. Five or nothin’.’

 

As soon as Akaashi took hold of the first dagger — Bokuto helpfully held the others for him — he could tell the game was rigged in the gamemaster’s favour. He’d had his experience with daggers of different shapes and sizes, as well as ones made specifically to ensure the player would miss, like the one he was currently holding. He swapped it out for one of the other four. That one felt normal — the other three did, too. 

 

‘One of these daggers is different,’ he whispered to Bokuto, weighing the rigged blade in his hand. ‘So that you don’t get five out of five and win the gold, but at least four so nobody suspects anything.’

 

‘Can you still win?’ Bokuto asked, a mischievous grin on his face, and Akaashi felt like he could do anything.

 

‘Of course.’ 

 

He started with one of the normal daggers, and it sank into the red-painted wood of bullseye. Someone in the crowd clapped politely, and a gaggle of kids off to the side cheered. The second one joined the first, and Akaashi took up the game-changer. It tilted to one side when he held it up, and if he could account for that tilt and aim a little off… the dagger bit into red paint, barely on the edge of the orange. The crowd declared it bullseye, and Akaashi saw the gamemaster fidget nervously as one after the other, the remaining two daggers sank into their target.

 

‘You did it!’ Bokuto cried, and before Akaashi knew what was going on, he was being picked up and swung around by an elated Bokuto, while the defeated gamemaster looked on, twirling the end of his mustache around one finger. 

 

\---

 

Time passed quickly, and Akaashi’s pockets began to empty of coin faster than they could win it back. After his dagger throwing hundred-gold pot, they didn’t have any major wins. Bokuto indulged a little boy in a game of cards, which he lost, and the little boy made off for the candy stand with ten gold pieces, happier than ever.  

 

They stopped at an inn, which had been already bursting at the seams when they stepped in. The innkeep looked horrified when she saw them, and gestured to the full tables, saying something Akaashi didn’t quite hear over the noise of a dozen conversations. She seemed less worried when he assured her they just wanted something to go, but still took their orders for grilled sandwiches with a disapproving face.

 

‘Watch your pockets,’ Akaashi told Bokuto as they waited, nodding to a little boy patrolling the inn. He was maybe five or six years old, old enough to be good at lying and fast, young enough to seem innocent at first glance. Akaashi watched as the boy slipped a man’s purse off his belt, opened it, retrieved two silver coins, and returned it to its place, all oblivious to the man.

 

‘Why doesn’t he just take the whole thing?’ Bokuto asked, also watching him, but with a wary hand on his own pouch. ‘Why just take one or two coins?’

 

‘It’ll be longer to realize he’s missing two silver than to realize his whole pouch is missing.’ Akaashi said, and turned away from the boy. Technically, as a Watcher it was his job to stop pickpockets like him, but he was off-duty and the boy looked hungry. ‘Besides, if someone’s purse goes missing, isn’t the whole inn more wary? But if he just takes a silver or two, nobody will notice, and it adds up.’ Bokuto watched the boy a little longer, until the innkeep came back with their sandwiches, and in the politest way she could, asked them to leave.

 

The horizon was beginning to streak gold and red when they left the tavern, and the first stand owners were beginning to pack away their things. Even if the citizens forgot about the beasts during Yhada’s Feast, the beasts and the Hunt still continued to chase, and the grim reality set back in once the sun set.

 

‘We should get going,’ Akaashi said, taking Bokuto gently by the hand.

 

They took the long route, looping around the South and East districts. It wasn’t a very happy sight: people hurriedly taking down colourful decorations, some shutters already closed, but with his hand in Bokuto’s, Akaashi found it bearable. Bokuto walked in silence for a while, completely engrossed in his sandwich — Akaashi had to admit, the innkeep was born for her job. The food was unlike anything he’d ever tasted.

 

‘Today was  _ great _ ,’ Bokuto said when he’d finished, without an ounce of sarcasm in his voice. He pulled Akaashi closer, throwing his arm around his shoulders, their fingers still intertwined. It was a slightly uncomfortable position, but Akaashi didn’t mind. They chatted about the day gone by, how the feast differed from the festivals celebrated in Bokuto’s hometown. At first the conversation was mostly evenly split, but eventually, Akaashi found himself doing most of the talking — which was unusual, for them.

 

‘You okay, Kou?’ he asked, when Bokuto had been silent for a longer time. He’d also began leaning on Akaashi more heavily. ‘Are you tired?’

 

‘Just a little bit,’ Bokuto replied, smiling weakly. 

 

‘Too much excitement, probably,’ Akaashi said, although he wasn’t fooled. Bokuto’s cheeks had drained of color, and he was walking as if Akaashi’s support was the only thing keeping him from stumbling into an alley and passing out. He’d learned to see through Bokuto’s smiles. ‘Tell me if you need to stop and take a break.’

 

‘I’m fine,’ Bokuto assured him, and Akaashi said nothing.

 

He was not fine.

 

They barely made it into North City before Bokuto rapidly let go of Akaashi and stumbled over to a crate, sitting down with such momentum Akaashi worried the crate would collapse. Bokuto rested his face in his hands and his elbows on his knees, and Akaashi crouched down next to him, worried. When he touched Bokuto’s arm, the skin there burned with a fever.

 

‘What’s wrong?’

 

‘Nothing, I’m fine.’ Bokuto assured him from under his palms, voice strained.

 

‘Liar,’ Akaashi scolded him. ‘You’re clearly  _ not _ fine, so why don’t you just tell me what’s wrong?’

 

A pause, and then, in barely above a whisper: ‘It’s happening again.’

 

‘What’s happening again?’ The cobble of the street was hard under Akaashi’s knees as he kneeled in front of Bokuto, and took his hands in his own, forcing him to look up. Bokuto’s face was deathly pale, and his eyes in the half-dark of the alley, were almost completely black.

 

‘This feeling,’ Bokuto explained. His lips were shaking, and Akaashi felt himself get more panicked for every pause Bokuto took between words, between breaths. ‘It always happens before I blackout, before I wake up somewhere else with no idea where I am.’ Bokuto paused, and gripped Akaashi’s hands so tight he felt one of his knuckles pop. ‘I don’t want to lose you! Promise me you won’t let me!’

 

‘Kou, you mean this has happened  _ before _ ?’ Akaashi couldn’t stop staring at his lover’s eyes, overcast with a black veil. ‘More than once—’

 

‘ _ Promise me _ !’ Bokuto cried, insistent. And Akaashi did promise, although when he thought of it later, he was not sure Bokuto heard him, because the word “me” was followed by a horrible scream. Bokuto shot to his feet, the motion pushing Akaashi backwards onto his back. Frozen in surprise and perhaps even fear, Akaashi’s legs refused to let him get up. All he could do was shuffle backwards against the wall of the alley and watch.

 

The process was faster than the crack of a whip, but in his wide-eyed shock, Akaashi witnessed it in slow motion. Although he refused to believe it at first, he knew what was happening from the very moment it began. Enormous wings appeared from Bokuto’s back, followed by feathers: gray and white, black and gold. The hands that Akaashi loved so much, the ones that had touched him so tenderly hours prior, turned into claws… and before Akaashi could blink, where his lover had once stood, there was the beast in all its glory.

 

In the space of a moment, Akaashi’s world had turned upside down.

 

Bokuto —  _ no _ , the beast — didn’t look at him. It looked to the mouth of the alley, and Akaashi followed it’s gaze. It’s attention had been captured by a man, standing in the mouth of the alley, looking at it in shock, his pipe rolling at his feet. Before Akaashi could react, and before the man could even think of a prayer to the Merciful Lady, the beast was upon him and Akaashi closed his eyes, still unable to move.

 

The beast turned back to him, blocking all lantern light from the street with its wings.

 

Akaashi watched it come towards him, clawed foot after clawed foot, step by step.

 

He felt the magic radiating off of it in waves.

 

He looked into its eyes.

 

‘Kou…’ 

 

It lunged at him.

 

The entire world came to a screeching halt. The wind, the sounds of the city, the beast’s cries… they all faded into nothingness, until only the sound of Akaashi’s heart drumming in his ears remained. He was shaking all over with fear, his arms thrown up over his head as if that would help him. He could feel the beast’s magic  _ right next to him _ , the sensation almost overpowering. The beast had stopped, and Akaashi didn’t know if that was for the better or worse.

 

He was afraid of dying. 

 

Once, long ago, he’d accepted that that day would eventually come, and rid his heart of fear of it. It was part of being a member of the City Watch, part of this greater good he’d agreed to protect. Somewhere after he met Bokuto, the fear had returned, manifesting in his nightmares. Every day, every hunt, every step taken on the cursed earth was a threat that on the off chance of  _ something _ going wrong, he’d have to say goodbye to this existence, or worse yet, to Bokuto.

 

‘Keiji…’ The sound of his name tore him from his thoughts and he dropped his arms, bracing himself for whatever he may see…

 

It was awful seeing him transform from a human into the beast, but this… this was somehow worse. There was his lover’s face, his torso and arms, just like they had been the day before, but the rest of him — that was something else entirely. The beast had not let all of Bokuto go: it clung to his hands, to his legs, to his back, not letting him go. He knelt in front of Akaashi, half human, half beast.

 

‘Koutarou.’ Akaashi said, struck dumb by the sight. One part of his brain, seeing the wings and the claws and remembering those horrid eyes and that  _ beak _ , itched for the golden sword, which had surely bonded to the runes by now. That was the City Watch part of him, because the other part, the  _ human _ one, the one in love with this cursed man found the idea of killing him  _ abhorrent _ . It wasn’t an option. He wasn’t going to let it be an option. ‘You have to get out of here.’ 

 

‘ _ Me _ ?’ Bokuto sounded surprised. It made Akaashi stop halfway into standing up. ‘They’ll kill me no matter what I do, if not now then later!  _ You _ have to go!’ He twisted his arm out of Akaashi’s grasp and took a step back, giving Akaashi a clear route to the entrance of the alley. A clear route to run away.

 

‘ _ Me _ ?’ It was Akaashi’s turn to be shocked. Somewhere in the distance, he heard the district’s bell chime — the Watchers were changing guard to the night shift, and would soon begin patrol. There was no way Bokuto could hide from them then. ‘You’re telling me to go and leave you to die?’

 

‘You’re not gonna die because of me!’ Bokuto cried, voice bouncing off the walls, and Akaashi understood. Bokuto blamed himself. Blamed himself for the deaths of those people, even though he hadn’t been in control. 

 

‘It wasn’t your fault—’

 

‘Yes it was!’ Bokuto cried. ‘ _ I _ came into this city, knowing full-well there was something wrong with me.  _ I _ stayed after those fucking Betrayer runes appeared.  _ I _ stayed when people kept dying, just because I was  _ selfish _ .’ He paused, chest heaving with effort. One of his eyes faded to black again, and he clenched his fist to fight it. Blood dripped onto the cobble. ‘Because I couldn’t leave you.’

 

‘Hey! Who goes there?’ A voice shouted, quickly echoed by another. _Watchers_ _on patrol_ , Akaashi realized. He met Bokuto’s wide eyed stare, and the world seemed to slow down again. He had to _say_ something, _do_ something before the guards came and he’d have to fight.

 

‘I won’t be sorry for loving you,’ Akaashi blurted, words coming out on their own, and grabbed Bokuto by the front of his tattered shirt, pulling him in for a kiss. Bokuto didn’t kiss him back at first, but eventually he seemed to realize what was happening. The feeling of his claws — so painfully  _ gentle _ — on his waist was one Akaashi would not forget as Bokuto kissed him back, one of his monstrous wings shielding them from view completely.

 

‘ _ What the fuck is that?! _ ’ The scream made Akaashi startle, even though he’d been expecting it. 

 

‘Go,’ he hissed, drawing a dagger. It was  _ practically  _ nothing — he’d left his weapons at home, expecting a pleasant day at the festival — but it was better than going against what he expected to be two bastard swords empty-handed. ‘I’ll find you.’

 

‘I love you.’ Bokuto said, and then they were both moving, each in their own direction: Bokuto to the sky, his great wings sending paper and rubbish flying around the alley, Akaashi toward the mouth of the alley and the two unsuspecting guards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one was a lot. sorry.


	7. By the Lady of Light

Once again, Akaashi thought he was dead. He was quite convinced he was, until the sounds surrounding him and the pain he was feeling finally set in. Then, he briefly _wished_ he was dead.

 

Even though he couldn’t see, he could damn well guess where he was. The stench of an old, moldy prison cell was unmistakable, and judging by the lack of light _and_ his hands, chained to the wall above him, he was in one of the solitary cells reserved for the especially dangerous or important criminals. He gave the chains a tug. His arms protested at the effort.

 

He couldn’t remember how he got there.

 

He could remember getting beaten within an inch of his life — one didn’t forget _that_ easily — but not why he’d even fought the City Watch. All that was left of the before was the scent of smoke and the overwhelming desire to protect.

 

Akaashi stared into the darkness in front of him and tried to focus on that desire.

 

His family? No, it couldn’t be. His parents and siblings were long dead… Akaashi resisted the memory of that cursed night when the beasts had taken them all from him, and left _him_ with the three thin lines on his torso, as if _he_ was more worthy of survival than they were. He never forgave himself for being the only surviving member of his family.

 

A loved one? Akaashi frowned. He couldn’t call Konoha’s face to the front of his memory. Couldn’t remember his smile or the way he used to laugh. He was but a pleasant memory, a moment from Akaashi’s past; like a book — loved while read, but eventually closed and put onto a shelf, although still treasured. He felt strange, thinking about that. Remembering the Akaashi from way back, right after Konoha’s death, when he wasn’t sure he could continue on living.

 

There had been someone else. Someone had come into his life and made it worth living again. Made him laugh and smile and put him back together, even if he still had his cracks. Someone—

 

Akaashi sucked in  a breath and backed against the wall as far as he could. An abomination had appeared in front of him, an abomination he vaguely remembered hunting. It had the face of an owl, enormous wings and claws that left deep gashes on the floor. It pulsed with its own light, and its eyes were like two suns with their burning intensity. He’d read books searching for a mention of it, or something _like_ it— he remembered that. But he’d slacked. He’d put the hunt on a backburner, and hoped for a miracle while…

 

What had he been doing? What had made him forget that people were _dying_?

 

The beast, just as it’s  eyes locked on Akaashi’s own, froze. It’s form began to [BECKS HELP] as it’s body began to morph and change, until all that was left was a young man on his hands and knees. His head was bowed, brow resting on the cold stone at Akaashi’s feet.  His hair was black and silver, and enormous wings sprouted from his back — the _beasts_ ’ wings.

 

Akaashi made to step forward instinctively, but a sharp tug at his arms reminded him that he was in fact, chained to the wall. He moved as far as they’d allow, and strained his eyes — the vision? Mirage? Hallucination? Wasn’t as clear as he’d like. He was looking at it as if it was underwater.

 

The young man made to stand up, and for a moment, the light that had been surrounding him, flickered out. When it reappeared, the wings were gone, and the young man was standing upright, looking at him.

 

Whoever he was — Akaashi couldn’t remember. It felt like the name was at the tip of his tongue but he couldn’t get it _out_ — he was tall, and well built. His muscles, as well as intricate tattoos showed through the thin linen of his white shirt. He had wavy, silver and black hair that fell into his strikingly golden eyes, then came to a little ponytail in the back. Akaashi knew those eyes; he knew that hair… his name eluded him.

 

‘Keiji,’ the familiar young man smiled at him, and Akaashi forgot how to breathe. At the sound of his voice, the sight of that smile, everything came flooding back. Bokuto. The man that had come into his life by a chance encounter, the man that had made him feel okay after so long, the man that kissed him like he was the most precious thing in the universe… and also the man who turned into the owl-like beast at the gods’ whim, and the man Akaashi had upturned all of his priorities thus far to protect.

 

‘Koutarou,’ Akaashi’s voice trembled as he finally _remembered_ every last smile, every last tender touch, every kiss. ‘What did they do to you?’

 

The lock made a horrible grating sound as it turned, and moments later the door creaked open. Bokuto disappeared, and Akaashi was left squinting against the bright light of the lanterns. Two guards, both armed to the teeth, filed into the room and shut the door behind them.

 

‘Good. He’s awake.’ one of the guards said in a gruff voice, then tossed a key to the other guard. ‘Uncuff him.’

 

Akaashi dropped his arms, slowly, feeling the blood return to his fingers. Well-acquainted with prison etiquette, he sank to his knees, and then sat on the floor. Through the slit in his helmet, the guard seemed pleased with that — he chucked a cloth bag at him. Inside, Akaashi found a piece of dry bread, and a hunk of cheese.

 

‘He’s docile for a madman,’ the other guard, who sounded obviously younger, commented. ‘The others have been saying he’s completely gone, covered in tattoos of the Betrayer Gods.’ Akaashi suppressed a laugh by shoving a chunk of cheese into his mouth. He’d forgotten how quickly word travelled in this city, and how quickly a goose honking and attacking pedestrians would get turned into a strange new beast.

 

‘Aye,’ the older guard was watching Akaashi carefully. ‘No tattoo on him but the sacred runes.’

 

‘He’s one of us?’

 

‘ _Was_ one of us,’ the older guard snapped so viciously that the younger one took a step back. ‘It’s a miracle the runes didn’t burn him, heathen as he is, bringing the beast upon us all. I’ve not the faintest clue what he thought he’d get from it.’ Armor clanged as the younger one shrugged, and mumbled something Akaashi didn’t quite catch.  ‘What’s it matter anyway, he’ll be executed come morning.’

 

‘But the beast’s still out there.’ That made Akaashi freeze, mid-way through a mouthful of bread and cheese. Bokuto hadn’t been caught: he was still out there, somewhere, running for his life. Alone and terrified, while Akaashi was holed up in this _dump_... He wasn’t surprised about the sentence being passed without trial: that was a thing that happened often enough in a city where the richest held power. Besides, his apparent crime had enough witnesses. ‘And he’s the one that can stop it, I think.’

 

‘You think?’ The older guard said, menace in his voice. He seized the other by the front of his armor, and lifted him up until his feet were barely touching the floor. ‘Well _I_ think _you_ should keep your mouth shut—’

 

As they argued back and forth, Akaashi’s focus drifted to the door, which he had not heard lock. The two guards were arguing back and forth, the younger one still held by his armor. If Akaashi was fast enough, he could get past them and out the door before they knew what was going on… He sensed people outside the door, but he didn’t know if those were fellow prisoners or guards, in which case he’d be killed on sight. It was die right then and there, or get publicly executed in front of the delighted crowd — it wasn’t much of a difference. He didn’t have any of his weaponry: they’d left him in just his pants and shirt, so he’d have to rely on his magic—

 

‘Anyone who tries to explain a traitor’s actions _is_ a traitor!’ the taller guard shouted, pinning his companion against the wall. Akaashi winced at the sound of metal grinding against stone.

 

‘I’m not _trying_ to explain him! I’m just saying that he’s the only one who knows how to kill that thing!’

 

Akaashi bolted for the door.

 

They had, in fact, left the door unlocked. If Akaashi had been one of the Watch and not a fugitive on the run, he’d have chastised them for it — he was meant to be a traitor madman, after all, not someone to be taken lightly. But instead of saying so, he ran up the corridor, past cells of other criminals. They shouted things at him, things he didn’t quite hear, but he was quite sure they were egging him on — a runaway was the most entertainment they’d get.

 

One of the two guards loosed a crossbow bolt after him, and it sank into the wooden arch as Akaashi sped up the stairs. His knowledge of the prison was in his favor — he knew each and every of its secrets. There were guards in the room above, drinking and eating and chattering. One had a lady in his lap. Akaashi experienced a truly unique moment, when the guards’ eyes locked on him, and slowly, as if time had been slowed, they registered who he was, and what his sudden appearance meant. By the time they thought to reach for their weapons, Akaashi was already halfway across the room.

 

He didn’t know how long he ran, turning sharp lefts and rights and bursting through closed doors. He barrelled into countless people, pushing them aside, eyes on the prize — freedom. Someone came at him with a blade, almost taking his arm off. Moments later, they were rolling on the floor as their clothes burst on fire.

 

He skidded on the smooth floor.

 

There was one last person standing between him and freedom.

 

When Akaashi threw himself at him, palms blazing, Uriel didn’t even cry out.

 

\---

 

He leaned against the wall, trying to catch his breath. The sun had begun it’s descent beyond the horizon, but the streets were alive. Alive with people wanting to find him, and kill him. Alarm bells tolled frantically, and a few blocks away, black smoke rose up into the air. That was the prison, burning down, courtesy of one of Akaashi’s firebolts gone wide.

 

Akaashi crouched down so one of the partially rotted crates could shield him from view at first glance, and tried to tune out the wild beating of his own heart in his ears, the shouting voices in his ears, and the knowledge that he killed that day.

 

Somewhere, far away, he heard the sound of a violin playing, and he knew what he had to do.

 

The forest was watching. Not just him — all of them. All of the souls pulled beneath it’s canopy by fate, each for its’ own cause: Bokuto to survive, Akaashi to find him, the combined forces of the Watch and Rangers to kill them both. Akaashi pressed on, through the thick undergrowth, between the trees, heading straight for where the source of that sweet violin glowed a beautiful gold in his mind.

 

\---

 

Akaashi stumbled into the clearing, the sound of violin almost deafening in his ears. Bokuto was leaning against a tree with one hand, breathing heavily. Akaashi’s gut twisted at the sight of blood, dripping from his lover’s wounds and onto the grass. His hair was loose and had twigs and leaves tangled into it — gods only knew how long he’d been running — and his face when he saw Akaashi was unbearable.

  


‘Come on,’ Akaashi took him by the hand, trying to pull him away towards the treeline, towards cover. He didn’t know where they would run, or for how long they’d be able to — night was falling, and soon, the Hunt would return to it’s grounds. But a part of him was convinced that if they ran fast enough and far enough, everything would be alright.  ‘We have to get out of here—’

 

‘That won’t _work_ , Keiji.’ Bokuto dug his feet into the ground and pulled Akaashi back, the broken tone in his voice making him pause.

 

‘What?’

 

‘You know what I am. You _know_ there’s no cure for me. I’ll kill again, you know I will, and what if—’ Bokuto’s voice broke, and Akaashi’s heart softened. He wanted to reach out to him, to hold him, to tell him everything was going to be okay — even if the logical, realistic side of him knew that’d be the most cruel lie. ‘What if this time I don’t stop and kill _you_?’ he asked, quietly. A tear trickled down his face, leaving a clean streak down his cheek.

 

‘Kou—’

 

‘No,’ Bokuto gave Akaashi’s shoulder a gentle push, inclining his head toward the treeline. Akaashi swayed and took a step back, but did not move further. ‘You have to go.’

 

‘I’m not going to leave you to _die_!’ Akaashi cried. The very thought of turning his back on Bokuto, knowing that he was leaving him at the mercy of the mob, was disgusting to him. He’d betrayed his Watch brothers, his city, his people… but he’d be a damned man if he betrayed Bokuto, too.

 

‘You have to! You have to live!’ Bokuto raised his voice in return, giving Akaashi another shove. This time, he grabbed his wrists and pulled himself closer to him.

 

‘I can’t lose another lover. I can’t lose you!’ Akaashi’s voice faltered, no longer as loud. He held onto Bokuto’s wrists, not letting him push him away, and stared at him, trying to make him _understand_ what he was saying. ‘I don’t _want_ a life without you.’

 

Lanterns lit up the clearing as their pursuers spilled into the clearing, but Akaashi didn’t look away. He stood there calmly, admiring the way the lantern light danced in Bokuto’s eyes, and ignoring the way his heart pounded. He was going to die here. He knew that. A little part of him had known he was going to die _for_ or _with_ — it didn’t matter which — this man from the moment he met him, passed out in the same forest that would soon become their joined grave.

 

Bokuto looked away from him for a moment, straightening up and looking the approaching crowd in the face. He looked like one of the great generals in Akaashi’s history books. Following his gaze, Akaashi saw Imlerith give them a slow nod, the rune-bound sword in his hand. Then, Bokuto looked back to Akaashi, and his expression softened into something so tender Akaashi couldn’t help the tears welling in his eyes.

 

‘I’m grateful for every second with you.I only wish we could’ve been born in a better time.’ Bokuto’s voice was quiet, but steady. He said each word with such conviction Akaashi couldn’t help himself: he put one hand on the side of Bokuto’s face, and pulled him in for a kiss, tender and sweet, a perfect summary of what he felt for him — what they felt for each other.

 

Imlerith’s voice was shaking when he gave the order.

  
‘ _By the Lady of Light_ — _kill them_!’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my you got to the end! I hope you've enjoyed the ride!
> 
> There might be an epilogue coming. might. no promises. It may or may not feature Uriel or Imlerith, to whom I've gotten (stupidly) attached to, for background characters thought up on a whim, and also Kuroo, maybe Konoha, maybe a god or three?

**Author's Note:**

> hey! thanks for reading: I hope you’ve enjoyed! you can come yell at me on Twitter (@merrihael) if you like, I love to chat


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